


Tonight You Belong To Me

by TheDancer



Category: Downton Abbey, Downton Abbey movie
Genre: Cute Getting To Know One Another, Fluff, Friendship, M/M, Other, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post Downton Abbey Movie, Post-Canon, Really This Is Me Trying To Make Myself Feel Better, Reference To Thomas' Suicide Attempt, Slight Angst At Some Point Probably
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-03 20:17:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 49,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21185387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDancer/pseuds/TheDancer
Summary: On how Mrs. Hughes and eventually everyone else at Downton Abbey finds out about Richard Ellis and learns to love him.





	1. July

**Author's Note:**

> Hey-ho fellow clowns in the Barrow/Ellis fandom!  
I stepped out of the cinema around two weeks ago and my life hasn’t been the same. I cannot sleep, eat or think without smiling about these two freshly baked boyfriends and so, I have given in to the urge of writing down my daydreaming. This is my very first attempt at writing fanfiction, so I apologise for bad writing or typos, since I don’t have anybody to read over it. Therefore, I’d be delighted if anyone would bother to give constructive criticism! I have given my best to research as much as I could to retain historical accuracy, but I guarantee nothing. I just hope you enjoy it a fraction as much, as I enjoyed writing it! Here we go, en route!
> 
> Teaser: the title is based on the song Tonight You Belong To Me by Gene Austin, first released in 1926. It will occur later in the story. For anyone interested, here is the link to the song:  
https://youtu.be/S-HoFhLRuO4
> 
> Any fictional characters, places or storylines referenced from the Downton Abbey series and movie are not mine and belong to Julian Fellowes.

Something had changed, hadn’t it.

Mrs. Hughes was trying to concentrate on the stairs leading downwards into the house’s staff premises, but her bleary eyes were making it fairly difficult to even set foot on to the next step. Blimey, it had been an exhausting day. Lady Mary and Mr. Branson had been out all day, trying to settle a nasty fight between two farmers located in the village about something concerning farmland belonging to the Abbey. Naturally, Master George had decided a day without his mother nearby was the perfect opportunity to roam the woods with the now quite large retriever Tiaa, and of course once he had exclaimed the idea, the other children would not take no for an answer. Since all of the upstairs adults were out, Lord and Lady Grantham being in London attending dinners and meetings and Lady Edith (Mrs. Hughes was unable to adapt to her new title as Marchioness of Hexam in the private confines of her own head) at Brancaster Castle, Mrs. Hughes had to admit to herself that she was a bit out of business and therefore offered her help as a chaperone to the nannies to keep an eye on the wee bundles of energy.

It had been a lovely day, no doubt, playing tag, building little piles of wood and kicking them over again, seeing the children’s happy faces in the warm July sun and chitchatting with the nannies about everything and nothing. Mrs. Hughes wondered when the last time had been where she had spent a full, carefree day without any chores outside. Quite a while probably, which should be a good thing. She always enjoyed being a busy woman, successfully leading a household. It had made her proud of herself ever since she was offered this responsibility at Downton and she intended to carry on, in spite of the changing times.

Yet, now, as she was attempting to descend the stairs without any unfortunate injuries, she was reminded that time did indeed only move forward, as an ache from walking or even crouching all day spread through her bones and muscles. “We do all get older, whether we like it or not”, she whispered to herself after finally arriving at the bottom. She was so tired that she could not be bothered preparing a supper, since she had missed the servants’ dinner. All she wanted to do was make sure everything was tidy and neatly prepared for the morning and then head straight in to the cosiness of her bed’s covers. She was going to need the sleep, since some of the family members ought to return in the morning. Work in this house truly never stopped.

Mrs. Hughes was fairly certain that she was the last man standing, so to speak, because it had taken a while to settle the children in to their cribs. Normally none of the staff would still be up at this hour. But when she started heading for the livery past the servants’ hall, her eye caught a sliver of light sneaking through in between the ajar door and frame of the butler’s pantry. So, Mr. Barrow must still be awake, which was not astounding, but not completely ordinary either. She decided to quickly pop in for a good night greeting, due to Mr. Barrow’s own attentiveness in the past few months. Mrs. Hughes was sometimes still astonished as to how far Thomas – Mr. Barrow, that was – had come with his, well, social skills. You really could mistake him for another person, cheerfully greeting the gardeners and actually engaging and enriching conversation during tea time. No more backstabbing or secret leaking. And even though Mr. Barrow did not like to be complimented on his positive change in character, Mrs. Hughes could see that he himself was also more at peace with the world. Not always of course, other days were better than others. But he was trying and recovering. Mrs. Hughes was very proud of him for that.

She walked to the pantry’s door with as regular steps as she could manage, briskly knocked on the door twice and then let herself in. Just in time, she witnessed Mr. Barrow scrambling in his chair at the desk, willing writing equipment with rather too much force than needed in to one of the drawers underneath the table. The unexpected flurry made Mrs. Hughes wonder if she had intruded on a private matter and should better retract herself from the room, but as quickly as that thought had come, Mr. Barrow had composed himself again, folding his hands in front of him on the desk top.

“Yes, Mrs. Hughes, how can I help you?” he said a bit too unbothered.

“Oh, not at all, I was just checking in to see who would be mad enough to still be out and about at this hour.”

“Why, how late…” His eyes trailed off towards the little wooden clock on his table. “Oh.” He sounded surprised. “I really had forgotten the time.”

“Well, it might be wise to head up soon”, Mrs. Hughes shifted in the doorframe. “I was just on my way to the cottage as well.”

She took a step back, wanting to close the door and actually do what she had just preached, but her curiosity was still peaked due to the obvious interruption she had caused when entering the room.

“May I ask what you are trying to hide from me?” She tried to sound as casual and inquisitive at the same time as she could manage. We certainly do not want to cause a deer in headlights situation with the timidest deer of all.

“What, nothing, why?” Mr. Barrow pulled his usual pout. Mrs. Hughes had known this man for some time now and knew that he normally spoke in a voice about half a note lower in pitch. She tried to hide her smile.

“I'm sorry, I did not want to disturb any personal business. Goodnight Mr. Barrow.”

She looked in to his face, which had turned a bit rosy at the edges of it, averted her gaze and shut the door while hearing a soft “G’night Mrs. Hughes” murmured in the direction of the door.

She had seen many, very odd things in this house over the course of the years, from soldiers to corpses to wedding celebrations to a ragtime band, but as far as she could remember, she had never seen a blushing Thomas before. That, in fact, was very odd.

Mrs. Hughes knew that being nosy had never done anyone any good, but during her late night check-up and subsequent walk home to her very likely already sleeping husband, she could not stop her mind from wondering what – or maybe whom - had caused Mr. Barrow to lose his normally very controlled façade. Perhaps whatever that was, was part of the sense of change she had felt when entering the basement.

…..

The next morning Mrs. Hughes was grateful for herself that she had gone in to the livery before lights out. She had found two buttons on the floor, which now turned out to be missing, as a housemaid close to tears had explained to her before breakfast, and she could solve the drama by simply handing her findings from last night over. Quietly she thought to herself that if she had begun to cry just because of the loss of a few buttons in her days as a young housemaid, she would have received immediate admonishment by her supervisor. Luckily, they lived in less stricter times now. She could have not been bothered to throw a fit any way. Not before a cuppa morning tea.

Almost everyone was already gathered around the long table, only Mr. Bates missing, surely due to him taking care of his son at the Bates’ home. Anna was calming the housemaid, who thought her life would be in shambles after filibustering some buttons, and everyone else was engaged in chirpy morning chats. Mrs. Patmore had just placed steaming scones and porridge on the table along with Daisy carrying milk, honey and sugar behind her, when Mr. Barrow entered the room. Everyone routinely stood up until he sat down at the end of the table, which was the cue for the rest of them to dig in to the warm and comforting dishes.

While all the people filled their mugs, plates and stomachs, Mrs. Hughes covertly and, as her conscience told her, “incidentally” searched Mr. Barrow’s face on her right hand side. He looked a little tired with narrow eyes and blue hues underneath them, which must have meant that whatever he had been doing late last night had kept him up even after Mrs. Hughes had instructed him to seek sleep. It must have had some level of urgency then. Interesting. She scooped a mouthful of porridge on to her spoon to cool it down. It burned her tongue anyway.

…..

The following days were only not dull, because of house members leaving and returning to Downton Abbey, much like a hotel. Mr. Talbot decided to spend some time off from the shop, letting the children hop around in his new and very smart car. Mrs. Hughes was not interested enough to remember what kind of model it was, but the shine in Mr. Branson’s eyes when seeing the machine for the first time spoke volumes about the quality of the product. Men and their toys, was all Mrs. Hughes could remark to Anna, who stifled a giggle as she was folding newly washed garments belonging to one of the Ladies.

All of the staff liked Mr. Talbot a great deal, yet Mrs. Hughes was able to detect a hint of jealousy in Mr. Barrow’s presence whenever Master George abandoned their game of cards in order to be picked up by his step-father and shown a small piece of car machinery. Even though Mrs. Hughes detested jealousy as an emotion, it was fairly quaint to see how much Mr. Barrow appreciated Master George’s company. The two had grown thick as thieves and would almost definitely form a bond for life, more than simple friendship, but less than between a father and a son, which Mr. Barrow was maybe not yet willing to admit. Still, the situation was not evil spirited, but rather a sign of all the affection the boy was receiving during his upbringing.

The atmosphere downstairs had truly changed ever since the Royal visit. The housemaids and footmen were closer than before, a likely side effect after pulling off one of the biggest conspiracies the Royal household must have lived through outside of their own four walls. The staff of Downton did not sit divided in to little groups at the evening round any longer, but shared happenings during the day over snacks, books or board games. It was a bonnie sight for someone, who had witnessed actual wars going on below ground level. How very refreshing.

Something everyone had noticed though, as they had found out in quiet conversations around the fire, was Mr. Barrow’s vivacious attitude these days. Obviously he had come a long way from the insecure dirty dog he had been a few years ago, but nothing compared to his behaviour during the last week. He had a glint in his eyes and a spring in his step that only appeared after the King had left Yorkshire. No-one could explain it though. The only difference Mrs. Hughes had noticed after keeping an eye on him over the past few days, was that he got a few more letters than usual and would make sure that he took them off Andrew before the boy could read out or even decipher the return address. Obviously, something such as this would seem highly peculiar, if it were anyone else receiving secret letters, but Mr. Barrow had treated his literary correspondence like a state secret as far as Mrs. Hughes could remember. Therefore, it did not surprise her that when she tried to approach him about the subject four days ago he simply pocketed the newest letter and unfolded the newspaper in front of him as far as he could, so as to hide his entire upper body behind it. Again, nothing irregular.

Because of that, Mrs. Hughes at first did not suspect the letters being the cause of the swift change in demeanour. But her outlook on the matter took a one hundred and eighty degree change of course after this evening.

Later on, when most of the workers had finished their duties and were now relaxing after a day of labour, Mrs. Hughes found herself at the table in the servants’ hall alongside Anna and Mr. Bates, Daisy and Andrew a bit further off, and Mr. Barrow in his usual seat. Mrs. Hughes was mending a pocket on her favourite coat, which had come loose after years of stuffing keys and tissues inside it. The room was rather peaceful, only faint whispers being shared between the couples respectively. The flickering fire in the fireplace cast an orange glow over the chairs and walls, and the smell of shepherd’s pie still lingered in the air from earlier. It seemed almost a bit festive.

Thus, the sharp, sudden laugh breaking the almost-silence caused quite a few of the attendees to jump in their seat. Everyone’s heads instantly snapped around to the source of the din – which, to everybody’s surprise, had been the head of the table. There was Mr. Barrow, wheezing with laughter, holding a piece of paper in his hands. He did not even notice the stunned silence of the others, gaping at him in half amusement, half bewilderment, as he continued to snigger in to the table. After a few moments he seemed to regain his composure, moving himself to sit upright in his chair again, mindlessly wiping at his eyes to get rid of some of the moisture that had gathered there during his fit. He also seemed to slowly process that there had been witnesses to the incident, which sobered him up rather quickly.

“Nothing to see here”, he claimed, then harrumphed and returned to the letter laid before him.

The people round the table did not agree.

“I’d like to know what was so funny.” And for once Mr. Bates really did look interested in what was going on inside the butler’s head.

“So’d I”, affirmed Daisy. “Seemed hilarious, whatever it was about.”

“It was nothing”, Mr. Barrow enunciated, “ and now ‘xcuse me, I’m calling it a night.” He got up, pouty lips, folding the bit of paper neatly in his hands, before putting it securely in his breast pocket, sliding his chair back in to the position it was meant to be and leaving the room without as much as a nod.

Mrs. Hughes and the other remainders listened to the retracting footsteps until a door fell closed and there was only silence left. In that moment it was their turn to cackle.

Well, this did seem worth investigating, was all Mrs. Hughes’ and Anna’s shared looks could mean.


	2. August

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so happy people are enjoying this! As requested, another bit!

Ever since the puzzling occurrence involving Mr. Barrow a few weeks back, Mrs. Hughes had found herself on a clandestine mission she was not very prideful in. As an important figure in the Downton household she was accustomed to secret keeping and knew when it was wise to be nosy or to leave it be. This was evidently none of her business and she scolded her mind for frequently wandering back to the question, who Mr. Barrow’s top secret correspondent could be. Strangely, this sort of gossip never interested her when she was an unmarried woman, but since she had tied the knot herself and had become as happy as she could have been with her wonderful husband, this sort of stuff appeared to be quite intriguing after all.

It did not help that Anna was equally curious. Naturally, she and Mrs. Hughes had agreed to keep their investigation to themselves, due to them not wanting to risk any legal repercussions, if their suspicions proved correct and Mr. Barrow’s pen pal indeed turned out to be a romantic interest. Of course there was no proof so far, it was the co-workers’ wishful thinking more than anything. Mrs. Hughes’ heart had been rather attached to Mr. Barrow’s happiness – not in that sort of way – after all of the inner turmoil he had gone through, ever after the tragedy including Jimmy. She was still uncomfortable with leaving him alone in the basement, experiencing flashbacks to rinsing the red-tinted bathtub, every time she saw him handling a paper knife. It was not the most dramatic experience she had ever witnessed, having lived through a world war, but it had been enough to shake her core to an extent.

She had felt quite guilty after his lowest point. Charles had reminded her again and again that it had been Mr. Barrow’s decision to try and end his life, not hers. But having lived to see Mr. Barrow’s downward spiral, Mrs. Hughes was aware, deep down, that they had all played their part. Perhaps she had not been the leading role in his depression, but in a way, looking back on it now, having sat back in silence and not taking action to stop the suicide attempt in time was even more punishing.

Thence, she felt a motherly sense of responsibility for the younger butler. She had really tried to incorporate him in group activities, asked for his honest opinions on the happenings in the world. And to some surprise, it had worked out well, because of Mr. Barrow’s equal efforts.

Yet, Mrs. Hughes could tell that his cheerfulness was still acting as a brightly coloured mask to cover up his loneliness. The topic was a touchy one. Even though everyone in the household knew about Mr. Barrow’s divergent natural inclinations, they kenned just as well that it was against the law to raise the subject. Therefore, nobody had mentioned it for a long time. Now, that was until this moment.

Anna had proposed the point first. They had both sat down in the comfy surroundings of Mrs. Hughes’ sitting room, initially wanting to plan the approaching trip to London with the Crawley family in November, but they ended up getting distracted by, obviously, way more important business.

“Mrs. Hughes, do you believe that Mr. Barrow is keeping a secret from us?”, she mumbled in to her mug, before blowing in to the freshly brewed Earl Grey Mrs. Patmore had been kind enough to drop off for them.

Mrs. Hughes had to chuckle at that. “My, Anna, I think we ought to worry if that weren’t the case. It would mean someone had replaced him with a look alike.”

“Yes, you’re right”, Anna conceded, “but I’m talking about a rather… taboo one.”

“Are you implying Mr. Barrow’s hiding a romantic interest?” She heard how blatant it sounded as soon as the words left her mouth, but she reserved herself the right to speak freely, at least in her own office. Nobody else was listening anyhow and Anna did not appear to be offended at all.

“Well, yes. You see, he’s been acting so happy. As in truly satisfied. And this behaviour mostly turns up when he opens his morning post. And when he doesn’t get any, his mood is close to gloomy for the rest of the day. I don’t know, it just seems… odd. In a good way. That’s all.”

Mrs. Hughes placed her tea cup gently back on to the saucer on the little, wobbly table. “Yes, I have noticed that, and I believe you right. Mr. Barrow has been nice for a while, but this new childlike glee he exudes at the breakfast table is almost pesky to someone not in the same state of mind. Especially early in the morning.”

Anna smiled. “Yeah, not much of a morning person either.”

A comfortable silence settled between them, only breached by the occasional swallowing of tea.

“Don’t you think we ought to get involved?”

“Absolutely not, Anna, and I am shocked that you are even considering invading Mr. Barrow’s private space.”

“But it would only be to help-“

“I am not going to repeat myself, these are Mr. Barrow’s private affairs we are talking about and if he wishes to keep them to himself, then so be it.”

“Alright, sorry Mrs. Hughes. I should probably learn to harness my curiosity.” Mrs. Hughes could only raise her eyebrows and sip her hot beverage at that.

Anna got up and gathered her belongings in her arms. “I wish you a good night Mrs. Hughes.”

“Good night, Anna. Sleep well.”

…..

The next day, Mrs. Hughes was rather perturbed. She was desperately looking for the little booklet, which contained all of the details for the trips of the Upstairs family in the coming weeks. She had been sure to leave it on her desk to go over the list of necessary preparations, to make sure she was working at an appropriate pace. And now, God be with her, it was gone. Just what she needed in between her regular schedule.

Furrowing her brow and her face thereby resembling the wet and foggy weather outside (was this what a day in August was supposed to look like?), Mrs. Hughes left her office with strident steps, heading for the servants’ hall. On her way past the door belonging to Mr. Barrow’s pantry, she slowed down and after a few moments stopped completely. She could hear talking on the inside of the office walls.

It certainly was not like Mrs. Hughes to eavesdrop, but the fairly loud voice, clearly belonging to the butler, did not give away any sign of suspected disruption. In fact, Mr. Barrow sounded like he was very invested in a conversation.

None of the other staff members were around to be suspicious, so Mrs. Hughes stood glued to her spot, listening in on the words being shared, muffled through the door.

“…you sure this is a safe way of exchange?”

No answer. Must be a telephone call then.

A soft laugh served as a response to whoever was at the other end of the line. “No, I know you’re more experienced than me. Jus’ can’t help the worrying.”

Again, a pause. This better not relate to the Crawley family, was all Mrs. Hughes' thoughts could produce, otherwise she would be worried too, judging by Mr. Barrow’s concern.

“I’m fine, don’t worry, the telephone is in my office.”……..”No, nothing really going on here, same ol’ duties of a butler, day in day out. But I needn’t explain that to you.”……..”Well, enlighten me with your good news, then.”………

This silence was a bit longer. Mrs Hughes leaned towards the door. Finally, the butler piped up again.

“Those are, indeed, the best news I’ve received in a while. Let me see what I can do, I’ven’t had a day off ever since….” The voice had continuously quietened, up until this point, where it was unintelligible. So, Mrs. Hughes quickly stepped, with extreme caution, closer to the wooden door. “…and you left. The Lady shouldn’t have a thing against it.”

Quietude.

“Alright, I’ll let y’know as soon as I can confirm. Have a good rest of the day.”………”Yes, hopefully soon. Goodbye.”

Mrs. Hughes could hear the earpiece being hung back on to the telephone’s scaffolding. Then she heard a chair being pushed back, and only then did she realise she was close to leaning on to a door that did not belong to her own sitting room, a door that in the next second was pulled on from the inside and swung open, only to reveal Mr. Barrow standing in the doorframe with a confounded complexion.

“Hello, Mr. Barrow.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Can I assist you with anything, Mrs. Hughes?” His tone of voice was carefully relaxed, trained to not give anything away, as if he had coincidentally met her in the village, not discovered her looming outside his office door.

Mrs. Hughes was fast to regain her composure. “Yes, I am unable to find the Ladyship’s calendar for the travels in the next weeks. I need it urgently.”

“Oh, of course,” Mr. Barrow turned on the spot, leaving the door partially open, and fetched the little red book from his desk. “I’m sorry to have taken it, I needed it for my own purposes of planning ahead.” He handed it over with his injured hand and Mrs. Hughes took it, still thanking the Lord in the back of her mind that she had come up with such a brilliant excuse.

“Thank you, I will only need it this afternoon. Do you need it back later on?”

“I might actually, if you don’t mind.”

“No worries, I'll return it shortly.” Mrs. Hughes took a step back, nodded at the man in front of her and slipped back in through her own door, in to her own office.

Darn, that had been a close call. She was just happy that Anna had not been fortunate enough to be a witness. She would have rubbed it in the older woman’s face for the rest of the day. Mrs. Hughes took a deep breath, moved towards her seat and sat down to finally get the work done, she should have finished by now.

…..

It was close to nine o’clock and the servants were just cleaning up the remainders of their own supper. Apparently there had been a teenage quarrel between the hall boy and the new housemaid, which had resulted in a bit of a weird mood at the dinner table. Every person had more or less kept quiet and concentrated on their meat pies.

Consequently, most of the staff had fled the awkwardly tinted servants’ hall as soon as Mr. Barrow had indicated it to be all right. Mrs. Hughes had joined the refugees in their escape, still having to finish measuring a piece of yarn, which she needed to fix the flap of the little Lady Sybil’s handbag. It had been torn off quite a bit after Lady Sybil and Master George had fought over whose turn it was to use it for a picnic in the gardens.

Just as Mrs. Hughes wanted to settle down behind her desk, her eyes locked on the little red calendar before her and she remembered the promise she had made earlier in the day. With a sigh, she hauled herself up again, snatching the book from the table and walking over to the next door office. She briskly knocked on the slightly ajar door, letting herself in to the, as she then found, unmanned pantry. Mr. Barrow must still have some business to attend to, explaining his absence.

Mrs. Hughes stepped further in to the room towards the desk and put the calendar next to the pen box at the edge of the table. While looking down to place the booklet securely, her gaze met the required angle to catch a glimpse of the paper bin partly hidden under the desk. It was quite full, up to the brim with letter paper, old bills and some apple cores. In the chaos though, Mrs Hughes’ vision focused on an opened envelope at the top of the pile. There was a return and receiver address on it in a neat penmanship unfamiliar to her eye. It certainly did not match Mr. Barrow’s scratchy handwriting.

She was unsure why her brain decided to short-circuit in that exact moment, but her consciousness only resurfaced when the envelope was already being crumpled up by the palm of her left hand and fitted underneath the waistband of her long, dark skirt. She left the office immediately, without being seen by anyone.

…..

Mrs. Hughes thought very ill of herself for the entirety of the evening. It must have been visible how irritated she was, since Anna had enquired twice what was nagging at her. Mrs. Hughes had thus decided to head back to her cottage and escape the judging eyes of no-one exactly, due to only her knowing, what she had dared to do.

Now, sitting in her small but most inviting, and especially private living room, she pulled out the paper from underneath her waistband and looked at it, as if it was going to come alive at any second and bite her nose off. It would only have been fair, in her opinion.

But not being able to go back in time and belt herself for sneaking in to somebody else’s private matters, she accepted her misbehaviour begrudgingly. Instead of toppling in to a misery of self-loathing for the whole night, she shifted her attention to the writing on the envelope, now being able to inspect it properly, no longer upside down.

The letter had been extracted from the mail and had been addressed to T. Barrow, Downton Abbey House, Yorkshire, England. It had been franked with a green, halfpenny stamp showing the face of His Majesty The King. The penmanship was very elegant and had obviously been written with an expensive, posh ink. Mrs. Hughes’ eyes darted to the upper left corner, where the return address was listed. It read the following:

_R. _ _Ellis_

_Buckingham Palace_

_London, England_

Well, if that was not a surprise to end the night on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Never thought I'd have to research what an inland stamp in 1927 looked like.


	3. Late August

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I've decided to update daily! Happy reading!

The headache piercing through her temples was the reason Mrs. Hughes awoke a fortnight onward. It had been very hot during the night, the last waves of summer ebbing away slowly, but surely. Even though she did like baby-blue skies and sitting in her cottage garden, she could do with some good English wind and clouds, thank you very much.

The headache only disappeared after she had drunk heaps of water for breakfast, but at least it had subsided. She really could not use any irksome distractions today, when she had to be getting the messages in the village. There were a couple of utensils and sewing equipment she needed to top up on.

“Mrs. Hughes, can I leave you in charge now?” She lifted her head to see Mr. Barrow standing in front of her desk, hands clasped behind his back, looking like a wee lad asking for permission to go and play with his friends on the street. Of course, it just came back to Mrs. Hughes that Mr. Barrow was taking the day off, which he had every right to do after almost two months of working tirelessly.

“Absolutely Mr. Barrow, I don’t see why there should be any problems. I wish you a good day in the normal world.”

Mr. Barrow smiled lopsidedly, tipped his hat and headed out of the room. What a lucky chap, she could do with a day off as well after such a dreadful night of sleep.

…..

“What do you mean, you are out of beige thread?! Is this 1914, with food shortages and destroyed factories?!” Mrs. Hughes could hardly believe her ears.

“I’m so sorry Miss, but the delivery car had a puncture this morning and couldn’t deliver the goods on time.” The vendor was visibly uncomfortable, nervously twirling a pen in his hands. The poor man was obviously not responsible for this misfortune, but Mrs. Hughes’ bad mood needed a victim to lash out on.

“So, how can I get what I must? The Ladyship’s trousers require mending and that I cannot do without beige thread.”

“Again, I’m truly sorry Miss, I am, but unfortunately, I can’t give what I don’t have.”

Mrs. Hughes rolled her eyes and pocked at her handbag, preparing herself to leave the shop, when the vendor raised his voice once more.

“If it’s extremely urgent, you could visit our central shop in York, the colleagues there would definitely be able to help you straight away.”

Brilliant, as if she had spare time on her hands to go on a quick detour to York. But there was no other option, since Lady Mary needed her fixed trousers in the morning for her horse riding.

Sighing quietly to herself as she stepped out of the boutique, Mrs. Hughes peeked in to the wallet buried deep in her handbag and was able to scrape together enough coins for a return ticket to the next biggest city. Having accepted her fate, she made her way to the train station and waited for the next train heading to York. Twenty minutes later, she was securely seated and closed her eyes, leaning the back of her head on to the head rest, and praying that no further complications would occur today. She was unsure, whether she had the nerves to deal with any more calamities.

…..

A few hours later, Mrs. Hughes was finally able to relax some of the tension out of her shoulders. The main textiles shop had mercifully been fully stocked up on everything and the proprietor had even given her a discount on her purchase after she had explained, why she had come in the first place. Now, she was slowly strolling back to the York central train station. The next train to Downton was not due until another half an hour, so she might as well enjoy the gradually setting sun, sinking behind the grey and brown blur of houses and chimneys.

The air was warm and a bit sticky, not uncommon for the environment of a city. It did remind Mrs. Hughes though, for which reason she loved living at Downton. Being able to step outside, only smelling trees, grass and soil, and most importantly being the only person around, was a luxury Mrs. Hughes had learned to cherish over the years. In fact, more and more with every year she spent orbiting the sun.

Her shoes joined the orchestra of the city life, heels clicking on the cobble stone road as people and more people, and cars and dogs passed her by. Momentarily distracted by the wall of sound, she almost stepped in to a pile of rubbish leaking from a fallen over dustbin.

Yes, she did prefer the countryside.

…..

Purely standing on the platform, Mrs. Hughes felt a bit chilly. Even though it was still technically August, one could feel the seasons and times changing. A strong wind was sweeping through the station, caused by the trains and open space around the platform. Without anything to shield her really, Mrs. Hughes pushed her hands further in to her coat pockets and nuzzled her chin in to the collar. The train should be here any minute now.

There were quite a lot of people waiting amongst her. Workers, mothers, children – it looked like everybody was ready to leave their place of work, going home after a day of doing business. They would head to their families and loved ones, recharging during the night, only to repeat the same procedure tomorrow, and the day after that, and every day, until Christmas and beyond that. My, getting caught up in a stream of thoughts like that would not do any good, Mrs. Hughes quietly thought to herself and instead redirected her focus on to the display panel, where all of the train arrivals and departures were listed.

Just before the yellow sheets of paper, imprinted with hundreds of numbers and station names, started to bore her as well, she noticed a figure in the crowd that seemed very familiar. Tall, clad in a dark grey coat with a matching hat, black hair and pale cheekbones against the backdrop of the stone walls of the station – no doubt, Mr. Barrow was standing on the same platform as Mrs. Hughes. Her mind immediately remembered the scene from this morning. Mr. Barrow must have spent his free hours in a pub or running personal errands in the city. Nothing unusual for a man his age to do, he had always been a bit more keen on the city life than herself.

However, strange was that he did not seem to be waiting alone. Mrs. Hughes could only see Mr. Barrow’s left side of the body from her position, and the other person he appeared to be talking to, judging by his moving lips, was standing on his other side, obscured by his frame. The partner in conversation, their physique indicating another man, was slightly shorter than Mr. Barrow and wearing a dark blue trench coat. Mrs. Hughes could not see his face, but identified dark blonde hair at the nape of the man’s neck underneath the hat fitted on his head, complying with the rest of his outfit.

Her brain was unable to come up with an answer to who the companion was, before the train ran in to the station, releasing even more steam and noise on to the platform. Mrs. Hughes saw only just in time how Mr. Barrow shook the man’s hand and then climbed in to a carriage, further down the line of cars from where she was waiting in a queue to hop on the vehicle. The flurry of travellers exiting and boarding the train made it difficult for her to keep an eye on the mysterious figure, but she could see him standing unmoved, watching the windows of the carriages. Then, she had to break her line of view to concentrate on her feet, ascending the three narrow steps of the train in to the seating area. She found a seat next to the aisle fairly quickly and settled in for the journey back. Next to her sat a woman with a baby in her arms, trying to calm the bundle of cries with careful shushes and kisses. Mrs. Hughes, while watching the tiny child’s pained face, was still racking her brain on who the man on the platform had been, and why, now that she thought about it, he looked in a way familiar. She was absolutely sure that she knew none of Mr. Barrow’s out-of-work friends, except of course for Jimmy, but all she knew about that was, they had lost contact quite a while ago. The man had also not borne any resemblance to Jimmy whatsoever, the ex-footman being way shorter and almost definitely not as fashionably dressed as the gentleman at the station. Yet, Mrs. Hughes could not rid the notion that she had seen the man before. How peculiar.

Halfway through the trip back, Mrs. Hughes fleetingly thought about getting up and finding Mr. Barrow in his carriage, but then instantly decided against it. She had already intruded far too much on his life, as she had to remind herself sternly, and she was not going to damage their freshly established bond by barging in and demanding a list of people he had met up with during his day off work. Shifting on the soft fabric of her seat, she pondered over how Anna’s curiosity had managed to rub off on her. And more importantly, how she was going to keep it in check for the sake of her dignity.

The baby started wailing again.

…..

Mr. Barrow was positively beaming over dinner. None of the other staff members noticed, since they were busy discussing the rumours of a parliamentary vote on the nationalisation of the coal industry, but Mrs. Hughes could practically feel him buzzing next to her. He was quiescent, only speaking when somebody asked him about the next wine delivery and appropriately laughing at Mr. Molesley’s sour face when Mrs. Patmore told a joke on the footman’s behalf. Other than that, Mr. Barrow kept to himself, smiling in to his food and leaving the table a bit earlier than usual to “finish up some paperwork”, as he declared.

As soon as the servants had scattered and she was sure that no-one at the table would be suspicious of her sneaking off as well, Mrs. Hughes excused herself and followed the same trajectory Mr. Barrow had just taken in to his office. The door was closed, but when Mrs. Hughes announced her own persona with two jaunty knocks, the voice on the inside merrily bid her in.

“Ah, Mrs. Hughes, that’s convenient, I was going to ask you how the new maid is getting along.” He was writing down something in a datebook, but then lifted his head to look at the housekeeper, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Oh, she’s proving to be very diligent, I can only speak well of her”, responded Mrs. Hughes.

“Well, that puts me at ease, you wouldn’t think it to be this difficult to find a decent housemaid these days.”

“Aye, I know. Nothing like the good old days.”

They both smiled at that.

“May I…?” Mrs. Hughes pointed at the chair in front of the desk and Mr. Barrow gestured for her to sit down. “Please, be my guest.”

She moved next to the chair, pulled it out and took a seat, neatly smoothening out her skirt to prevent wrinkles from forming. For a split second, she did not really know what to say, whatever it was she wanted to get off her chest. Mr. Barrow looked at her expectantly with grey, curious eyes, abandoning the pen he had been using a moment ago completely. He was waiting for her to make a move.

“Mr. Barrow, I must confess something.”

His face turned a bit more surprised at that. “Why, I am all ears.”

Mrs. Hughes let her gaze wander away to the side, a give-away of her nerviness, and cleared her throat.

“You see, I wasn’t going to raise the subject, since it is none of my business, really, but I am pretty sure that…. ahem … well, I am pretty sure I saw you at the central station in York today.”

He definitely looked surprised now. It was probably one of the last things he had anticipated. He managed to phrase a smooth reply nonetheless.

“That is true, I was at the station. I thought spending one of the last few days of summer in the city would be a nice idea.” Mrs. Hughes looked at him.

“And it was?”

“Certainly. I’d a nice time.” Mr. Barrow leaned back in his slightly creaky chair.

“That’s…. good.”

“Alright.”

Awkward silence.

“Soo, is that all you wanted to-”

“I saw you had company with you.”

The surprise on Mr. Barrow’s face turned in to a daunting realisation, his mouth opening slightly. “Well, am I not allowed to have friends outside of Downton Abbey?” His posture and voice turned defensive, like a child caught outside of its room after bedtime.

“No, Mr. Barrow, I did not mean it like that and you know that.” Their eyes met over the table. “I was just wondering, if it was somebody worth knowing.” She accompanied the statement with a pointed look.

Mrs. Hughes could detect the inner conflict happening in real time on the inside of his head. Or, equally, in his heart. She felt a bit bad for putting him in this position and, after a while, was just about to offer to drop the topic entirely, but he softly spoke up then.

“He’s a good bloke.”

The simple sentence was nothing much, and yet Mrs. Hughes was dearly moved. She could imagine how difficult it must have been for someone as resigned as Thomas – Mr. Barrow – to admit such a thing, and realised for herself, how much trust he must put in her, to allow her in to his emotional world in this way.

She began to smile, but as she let the admission sink in, she remembered with a sinking feeling in her stomach the harsh reality that came with it. Maybe Mr. Barrow had found yet another Jimmy.

“And do you know if he thinks similarly of you?” Mrs. Hughes made sure to ask the question as kindly as possible, not wanting to open up barely healed wounds.

Miraculously, Mr. Barrow allowed a shy smile to stretch across his face.

“Actually, I do, yes.”

Mrs. Hughes released a sigh of relief. “Those are wonderful news Mr. Barrow! I am genuinely, and I mean truly, happy for you.” Mr. Barrow’s cheeks and forehead adapted a hint of a rose colour. He looked at his polished leather shoes on the carpet, unable to hide his grin. “Thank you very much, Mrs. Hughes. That means a lot.”

A few moments of quietness passed, the air around them suddenly feeling less dense and more like a breeze than a thunderstorm.

“Well, do I have to tickle it out of you or are you going to tell me his name voluntarily?” Mrs. Hughes would have denied it afterwards, but her interest in the matter made her forget her usual standards concerning nosiness.

Mr. Barrow leaned back forward, placing his elbows on the desk, his hands playing with the top of the page of the opened book. After some wringing with himself, he gave in.

“His name is,” his nervous gaze shifted towards the door, “Mister Richard Ellis. You’ve met him before. Y’might recall that he was the King’s Royal Dresser.”

_Oh._

_Oh, of course._

“Sorry, what was that?” Mr. Barrow looked at her as if she had just started singing the tune to God Save The Queen.

She must have gone bonkers and spoken out loud. Kicking herself mentally, she quickly added, “No, yes, I do remember him, very lovely chap indeed.”

How could she have forgotten the envelope she had, against her better judgment, fished out of Mr. Barrow’s bin two weeks before. It was bad enough that she had stooped so low, but then being so stupid as to forget about it? That was honestly another level of embarrassment.

Mr. Barrow luckily did not seem to catch on with her inner monologue. Instead, he looked like he was no longer in the room with Mrs. Hughes, but back in York with Mr. Ellis. His reverie was broken by a knock on the door. Both of their heads whipped around in to the general direction of it and Mr. Barrow collectedly said, “Come in, please.”

Andrew’s head poked through the door. “I’m so sorry to interrupt Mr. Barrow, but would you and Mrs. Hughes care to join in on a game of Rummy?” He looked expectantly at the two people in charge.

Mrs. Hughes answered for both of them. “Sure Andrew, we will be with you in a minute.”

“Great, we’ll be waiting.” Just as quickly as he had appeared, Andrew was out of the door again.

“Really Mrs. Hughes? Don’t you think a butler has better ways to spend his evening than with Rummy?”

Mr Barrow looked at her with pleading eyes.

“No, I don’t believe so.” She got out of her chair. “In fact, I am very sure that you will enjoy it as soon as the game begins.” She pulled a grimace of a smile at him, which he returned with an overdramatic sigh of ‘if I must’.

“Alright, let me just finish these arrangements.” Mr. Barrow picked up the pen once more and focused back on the book, still spread out on the desk.

Mrs. Hughes rested the palms of her hands on the backrest of her chair and looked at the top of his head, noting the few greying patches of hair at his temples.

“Why don’t you invite him over?”

Mr. Barrow snapped his head back up, looking as if he had clearly misunderstood what Mrs. Hughes had just proposed.

“To Downton? You don’t mean that.”

“Why not,” she answered indignantly, “He got along well with everybody when he was here the last time and I’m sure the subclass staff of Downton would enjoy some tales right out of Buckingham Palace.”

She raised a questioning eyebrow at him.

“With all due respect, I don’t think it would be a terrific idea to present my unlawfulness on a silver tray to anyone whom it may interest.”

Mrs. Hughes had of course considered that side of the argument. “Well, I trust you to be proper and quiet about…. that part.” It felt a bit like having stabbed him in the ribcage, suggesting to stay silent about the only thing, which brought outright joy in to his life. But then again, the man must have been used to it by now. “Besides, I know I probably shouldn’t say it, but it’s not exactly a secret.”

Mr. Barrow gave her a fearful look after the utterance. Mrs. Hughes could almost hear his heart beat accelerating. She rapidly added, “I’m not talking about Mr. Ellis, but rather your special nature.” That revoked some of the fear from his peely-wally face, but certainly not the discomfort.

“Look,” continued Mrs. Hughes in a firm voice, “It was just a suggestion, if you are uncomfortable with bringing him here, that is fine. But the offer stands.”

Mr. Barrow very quietly thanked her and mumbled, “I’ll think about it.”

“Right.” Mrs. Hughes straightened her stance. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a game of cards to win.”

The butler nodded his assent and turned towards his datebook. Mrs. Hughes pushed the chair lightly forward and left the pantry in a few steps.

Well, that conversation had gone a lot better than she had anticipated.

…..

There was a silent agreement between her and Mr. Barrow to avoid leakage about their conversation that night. Mrs. Hughes was anyhow a bit more attentive to his behaviour than before, just to keep an eye on him. He had not given feedback on whether he would accept or decline her offer, but the frequency of letters he received in the morning increased continuously, and so she made a mental note to reinforce her proposal when the time was right. The mirth Mr. Barrow carried in every one of his actions these days though, was an indicator for his well-being, and Mrs. Hughes decided that if the written correspondence was enough to satisfy him, it was for her as well. 


	4. September

September, and with it fall, had come with all its might. The Abbey looked even more spectacular with red, orange, golden, green and yellow foliage decorating the spaces underneath the trees among the garden paths. The crisp, cold air made breathing a pleasure. That was for Mrs. Hughes, at least. Many of the other inhabitants of the house, irrespective of title or wealth, were combatting either a cold or a proper flu and therefore unable to breathe or smell through the nose. In times like these, it was not only Mrs. Hughes’ task to keep the household up and running, but also to cure all the ones ill-fallen, which kept her rather busy from early in the morning to very late at night. Even when she finally returned home under the shine of a bright moon, she could not escape the sickness, with a husband next to her coughing, sneezing and snoring all night long. How she had managed to avoid the epidemic until now was an outright mystery to her.

The morning sun cast a mellow glow on to the colourful premises. Mrs. Hughes made her way up the gravel path, meandering through the lawn. It would be a day full of substituting staff members for others, due to most of them being almost literally tethered to their bed by Mrs. Hughes herself. The last thing she wanted, was to spread germs in places such as the kitchen. That would be, for one, gross, and secondly might cause an even bigger shortage of servants capable of work. By the time she reached the back door of the Abbey, Mrs. Hughes’ thoughts were already racing with organisational planning, and the clock had not even stricken seven o’clock yet.

As estimated, it turned out to be a challenging day. But, while they were nearing the end of it, Mrs. Hughes tackled the difficulties as professionally as the best, most experienced housekeeper ever could. Mind you, she could not have done it without Anna and Mrs. Patmore, the latter personifying a tea factory throughout the day, and Anna running up and down the stairs, either handing out scolding beverages left and right, or gathering piles of handkerchiefs in hampers. The three of them worked as a great team.

Mr. Barrow had also caught a nasty cold, but would not have any of it, when Mrs. Hughes asked him to retreat to his room to cure it. “I am the butler,” he had said in a nasal tone, “And I will only leave my position when my legs won’t carry me any longer.” The next moment, he had sneezed in to her face. Charming.

Just like with any other crisis, the Downton Abbey household somehow managed, and Mrs. Hughes eventually left the Countess of Grantham’s bedroom for the last time that evening, a tea tray under her arm, keys rattling against her work dress as she gently closed the door. Her Ladyship had been the last person of the Crawley family to be awake. Mrs. Hughes had found her halfway asleep when she came in twenty minutes ago and was now very surely going to slumber until the next morning. Which meant service upstairs was done for the day, hallelujah.

Mrs. Hughes had not been in the servants’ rooms since after breakfast and naturally, could not wait to finally go down and heat up some left-over chicken soup Mrs. Patmore had prepared for anyone, who could accomplish eating something with at least a hint of substance. 

Mrs. Hughes descended the stairs to the basement. She was positive that she would be the last person up, a regularity while Mr. Barrow was recovering from his cold and therefore unable to keep his eyes open past dusk. She climbed down the old wooden steps, removing strands of hair from her face, which must had loosened out of her tight bun over the course of the day. While doing so, she overheard an aggressive whisper, coming from the hall leading to the back door, which fell closed in that second.

“What were you thinking?! I cannot-“

The timber underneath Mrs. Hughes’ right foot squeaked as she transferred her weight on to it. The motion caused the nameless orator to pause.

“Quick, get in there!” The click of a door echoed through the hallway.

Highly alerted, Mrs. Hughes picked up her speed of walking and turned in to the long hall with the servants’ entry at the back.

“Excuse me?”, she called in to the dark.

When she approached further, her eyes adapting to the change in light, she could make out the butler’s face, emerging from the shadows. He stood next to the shut door belonging to the boot room, turning towards her, hands clasped behind his back, ramrod-straight, a pout on his lips. He looked like he was preparing for battle.

“Hello, Mrs Hughes.” Ever so nonchalant, his good acting be damned.

“Oh, Mr. Barrow, you gave me a fright there.” To underline the statement she instinctively reached for her heart, laying her right hand on top of where it vaguely should sit.

“Sorry for that, I didn’t want to bother you.” He sent a reassuring smile her way, yet she did not miss the twinkle of mischief in his eyes.

“Is everything alright, Mr. Barrow?”

“Absolutely, never better. Good night, Mrs. Hughes.”

At that moment the door to the boot room decided to give its farewell wishes as well, something banging against the door panel from the inside.

Mrs. Hughes looked at the door, then back at the butler, who was still trying to withstand the creeping doubt painted on Mrs. Hughes’ face. She eyed him suspiciously, obviously knowing that Mr. Barrow was lying right at her. He kept on looking at her, pretending to have never heard anything.

When the ridiculousness of the situation became rather comical, Mrs. Hughes spoke up again with an annoyed undertone.

“Let’s try that again: Mr. Barrow, is everything alright, or shall I ask the door in front of us, which must have become animate over night?”

The butler rolled his eyes, facing the fact that he could no longer uphold the pretence.

Mrs. Hughes gave him an admonishing glare. “Could, whoever may be on the other side of said door, step out, please.” It was no question, it was an order.

For a few heartbeats nothing happened, except for Mr. Barrow shifting his weight nervously from one foot to the other.

Eventually, the lock of the door quietly clicked, the doorknob was turned and then, at last, the door opened.

Out of it stepped no other than Mr. Richard Ellis, cheekily grinning at the pair in the hallway. 

“Good evening, Miss.”

…..

The three of them all sat around one end of the servants’ dinner table, each with a bowl of hearty chicken broth. For the time being, all one could hear was the alternation between spoons clinking on porcelain and slurping of soup. Now and again, one could feel a drifty gust of wind from the outside world, pushing through crevices between the floor planks. Thanks to the food, the little group of two men and the housekeeper was pleasantly warm on the inside. The wee lamp set in the middle of them only added to the homely feeling.

“I’ve got to say Mrs. Hughes, this soup is gorgeous, I’d like to give my best compliments to the chef.”

Mrs. Hughes had not spent nearly enough time with Mr. Ellis to claim, she could judge his character truthfully, but oh my, the combination of his good manners, smartness and striking looks made her well understand the appeal Mr. Barrow saw in him. But, that was still no explanation, as to why the Royal valet had shown up at Downton in the middle of the night, seemingly without even Mr. Barrow knowing about it.

Mrs. Hughes dipped a piece of bread in to the hot, oily liquid in front of her. 

“When I tell that to Mrs. Patmore she might try to abandon our humble abode for something more glamorous, like your palace.”

Mr. Ellis gave her an enchanting smirk at that. “I’d be delighted if that were the case. The chef at Buckingham sure knows how to cook, but only ever dishes I can’t pronounce. Can’t remember the last time I had a good old Yorkshire pudding.”

“It’s nice to be reminded of home, time to time”, Mrs. Hughes commented before taking another sip of the broth. How true those words were. “I would still be interested in what brings you here exactly.”

“Yeah, me too”, Mr. Barrow chimed in, with a bit more of an edge to his voice than to Mrs. Hughes’. He looked at Mr. Ellis over his spoon, which he was blowing on, to cool it down.

Mr. Ellis leaned back in his chair, suddenly finding the buttons on his sleeves much more interesting than his vis-à-vis.

“Honestly not much explaining to do, really. I had some off time in London and wanted to visit my parents, and while I was up here, thought I’d…. I’d drop by.” He sheepishly glanced in Mr. Barrow’s direction, his blue eyes as big as a puppy’s.

“Well, that was very kind of you, wasn’t it Mr. Barrow?”

“Sure.”

More slurping from the butler’s corner.

Mrs. Hughes was a bit irked at Mr. Barrow’s lack of enthusiasm. She spoke to Mr. Ellis, “Ignore him, he has been suffering from a cold, which clearly does not only affect his sinuses but also his manners. He is way more pleased to see you, than he is letting on. I actually asked him to invite you here a couple of weeks ago.”

Mr. Ellis watched her with a kind regard. “I know”, he admitted, “T- Mr. Barrow wrote to me and reported your courtesy.” He took a break from speaking to drink a sip from his glass of water. “It was actually part of the reason I came, even though Mr. Barrow thought I was stupid for it.”

“You are.” Mr. Barrow chewed on a piece of chicken.

The valet suppressed a sigh of defeat, “Thomas, I told you it wouldn’t be a problem, no-one in the Palace would suspect anything of me going to Yorkshire, I’ve done it before in my life-“

“Yes, but as you might have forgotten, Downton isn’t your precious Palace, where people don’t poke their noses in to everyone’s business. The police came for me once before and I barely escaped thanks to the Lordship’s charitableness.” Mr. Barrow was getting really worked up, throwing his spoon forcefully in to his bowl, splashing a bit of soup left and right, “Do you have any idea, how-!”

“Right, stop this nonsense”, Mrs. Hughes intervened sharply.

Mr. Barrow shut up. Somewhere in the back, the clock in the butler’s office was ticking.

Both the boys looked at her glumly. “Mr. Barrow, I understand your concerns and, might I add, they are justified, but as the housekeeper of this house, I will not allow you to misbehave towards a guest.”

Only a bit of pouting on Mr. Barrow’s behalf as an answer, as he picked up his spoon again to stir the cooling supper.

“I’m sorry”, Mr. Ellis spoke in to the oppressing, stretching silence. “Maybe I should leave.”

He was starting to raise himself out of his seat, when Mr. Barrow so much as whispered, “No, stay. Please.”

Mrs. Hughes would have smiled, if the plea had not sounded so heart broken.

The atmosphere in the room had changed in to something bitter. Mrs. Hughes could almost taste it on her tongue, like the chicken soup had actually been cooked lead, settling heavily in the pit of her stomach. To try and lift the spirits, she tried to phrase, what her heart felt for the couple, if you could even name them that.

“Mr. Ellis, and Mr. Barrow too, I want you to know that I speak on behalf of the Downton staff when I say: we’re not the enemy.” She picked up a napkin from the table and wiped her mouth clean, not being hungry any longer. “Sadly, I cannot promise you a complete safe space in this house, but I can guarantee, we will keep to ourselves and welcome you, as people, with open arms.”

The words seemed to reverberate from the room’s furniture. It seemed, as if the men had to let such a level of acceptance sink in for a moment.

“I… I don’t know what to say.” Mr. Ellis did look like he was at a loss for words.

“Mrs. Hughes, as always, thank you, but how the hell will you guarantee that no-one will go and tell the officers for some cash and vengeance?”

Mrs. Hughes, after carefully thinking about her response, established eye contact with Mr. Barrow. “One can only go and tell about something there is concrete evidence for. That much faith I have in British justice.”

She placed her hand on Mr. Barrow’s on top of the table, giving it a squeeze. “I know it won’t be ideal, but pretence friendliness, I suppose, is better than no contact whatsoever?”

“I agree.” Housekeeper and butler shifted their attention to the third party in the room, having regained his confidence with a little smile tugging at his lips. “Besides, I like it here. I feel I could make some more _friends._”

Mrs. Hughes missed the inside-joke, but for some reason the comment enticed a laugh out of the butler. She was just happy that the night would not be ending on a hostile note.

…..

The next morning, Mrs. Hughes was in her cottage kitchen, preparing a breakfast tea for three. She had thought it unwise to let Mr. Ellis sleep in the servants’ chambers, especially since his arrival was unbeknown to the rest of the staff. The safer option had been, to offer him a place to stay in the guest room of her and Charles’ cottage, and then the following day introduce him properly to the curious eyes of Downton Abbey.

When she knocked on the door of the guest room, Mr. Ellis opened it almost instantly, already impeccably dressed in a light grey suit with a read tie, hair tightly combed over on to the right side.

“Good morning Mrs. Hughes.” There was something in his voice that sounded a bit like excitement.

“Ah, good morning Mr. Ellis. I’ve prepared a cup of tea, because my husband is heading out soon, and I was wondering if I could offer you some too.”

“How thoughtful, thank you, I’d love a cuppa.” 

Mrs. Hughes motioned for him to follow her and she led him in to the living room. The walls opposite the windows were dipped in morning light.

Mr. Ellis stood in the middle of the carpet, taking in his surroundings, unsure what to do with himself.

“Please, take a seat. Milk or sugar?” Mrs. Hughes gestured at the tea set sprawled out on the coffee table.

“Just a dash of milk, please.”

They settled down in comfortable silence, exchanging mugs and teaspoons.

Down the hall, noises of shoes on parquet could be heard, growing louder, until Mr. Carson stood before them, hat at the ready in his hands.

“Oh, well, this is a surprise. Good morning, Mr. Ellis if I remember correctly?”

“That’s right, good morning sir.” Mr. Ellis got up from the couch to shake Charles’ hand. The men formally greeted each other with a shake and a curt nod.

“May I ask what you are doing here?”

“Mr. Ellis found himself in transit late last night and hoped he could stay here at the Abbey. I wasn’t sure his Lordship would be comfortable, having an over-night guest he didn’t know of, so I offered him our spare room. Surely there was no problem with that?”

Mrs. Hughes exchanged a meaningful look with her husband, who quickly caught on with it being necessary. “Certainly not, we are happy to play host. Make yourself at home.” Charles gave the younger man a reassuring smile. “But now, if you will excuse me, I must head in to the village, for I am hoping to meet an experienced gardener coming in from Leeds today. I am currently attempting to expand my vegetable garden, but my green thumb is regrettably not as green as I would like it to be.”

Mr. Ellis tipped his hat at him and hurriedly said, “Please, don’t let me hinder you, I’d hate for you to be late because of me.”

Mr. Carson put on his own hat, reciprocated the gesture and turned to dress himself in his long coat. The temperatures had dropped impressively over the last few days. Subsequently, he stepped closer to Mrs. Hughes to give her a quick kiss on the cheek and with a “I will see you later”, left the room and stepped out of the house.

Mr. Ellis stepped round the sofa to take a seat once more. His gaze lingered on the front door.

“He wouldn’t like me, would he?”

Mrs. Hughes almost choked on her breakfast tea. “What, of course he likes you, you are a decent fellow-“

“No, I mean, if he _knew_, he wouldn’t.”

Mrs. Hughes had no handy answer for that.

Mr. Ellis resignedly reached for his mug. “Yeah, I didn’t think so.” They both searched the remnants of tea leaves in their beverages for a way out of the situation.

The woman was the first to upstart conversation again.

“May I ask why you seem a bit nervous? I have the impression that you aren’t normally easily shook and you are hardly meeting any Royalty today.”

He smiled a crinkly-eyed grin, looking out the window into the quaint garden behind it. “I don’t know really. I think it’s because, I guess everyone at Downton never expected me to see them again, and so didn’t think they had to put on a show, be nice, for much longer.” The valet shrugged a bit helplessly. “I just wonder, whether they’ll like me as much when the King isn’t in the house.”

Mrs. Hughes found her opposite’s modesty endearing to no end, setting her cup down on the saucer in her other hand. She fondly replied, “Now, don’t you worry about a thing dear. They won’t be able to get enough of you.”

Mr. Ellis’ blue pupils met hers, and she could see in them that he was appreciative, but not fully convinced.

…..

“You all remember Mister Richard Ellis?”

Mrs. Hughes stood in front of the table, fully laden with breakfast, dishes and the little pack of healthy servants making googly eyes at her appendage. Mr. Ellis lifted his left hand for a little wave. “Hello again.”

“Mr. Ellis! What a treat to have you again!” One could always rely on Mrs. Patmore for a warm welcome. “Please, take a seat, anywhere you’d like!”

Everyone else added their hellos and good days in a badly tuned choir.

“How nice of you to come, Mr. Ellis!” Anna patted the empty seat next to her. “May we ask what brings us the pleasure?” Mr. Ellis got the hint and sidestepped between the wall and row of chairs, until he was able to sit down by her side.

“I was just in the area around York and thought I’d pop in for some shenanigans.” He winked at her. The motion made quite a lot of the females giggle in the room. Mrs. Hughes had to suppress a sigh of annoyance, also taking her regular seat to the left hand side of the butler’s chair.

The flock pressured Mr. Ellis in to small talk and news about London, more specifically His Majesty, when Mr. Barrow stepped in to the servants’ hall. In unison, the staff arose to greet him.

“Good morning.” Mr. Barrow stood at the head of the table, looking around the table, his eyes only settling on Mr. Ellis when it was his turn.

“Ah, Mr. Ellis, what a surprise.”

“Good morning Mr. Barrow.”

Mrs. Hughes was a tad worried about the huge grin on the valet’s face, obviously not trying to hide the joy on his insides. Thank God, Mr. Barrow’s acting was way better, and he just nodded at him and sat down as he did every morning, none of the staff smelling anything fishy whatsoever.

During the course of breakfast, poor Mr. Ellis was bombarded with questions like, if the King’s Page Of The Backstairs was still alive at this point or if someone had murdered him yet, and whether the King had a favourite set of pyjamas. Mr. Ellis, bless him, was a brave soul though and answered every preposterous question with charm and humour. He was so busy standing in the spotlight, he probably did not even get the chance to eat anything. 

Mr. Barrow was playing the antagonist role, not piping up once with a comment. Mrs. Hughes could see the inescapable smile on his lips though. The only times she had ever seen him like that were in the last weeks, whenever the morning post had arrived. With that thought, Mrs. Hughes could not contain a smile either.

“So Mr. Ellis, what does a breakfast look like for the highest servants in the land?” Mr. Molesley stirred his greyish, slimy porridge with a bit of displeasure.

“Mmh, let me think”, the Royal valet considered. “Mostly it’s similar to what you’ve got, but as you know our chef is French, so he’ll sometimes make recipes he knows from home. My favourite treat he makes for breakfast must be madeleines.”

“Made-what?” Mrs. Patmore interrupted. “Is the main ingredient a young girl from France?”

Mr. Ellis laughed loudly. “No”, he continued to chuckle, “It’s a sweet little cake that has the shape of a clam. They’re really tasty.”

Nobody could testify to that, apart from Anna, who had tried the delicacy when she had once accompanied Lady Mary on a short holiday to France. She ardently agreed with the valet.

When the Ellis Parade slightly took to an end, Mr. Barrow announced today’s business, mostly revolving around which rooms would be unoccupied and therefore open for cleaning. Breakfast was declared finished and everybody headed for a day full of work.

“Mr. Ellis, would you accompany me in to my office for a second.” Mr. Barrow’s stare was still fixed on the newly arrived letters in his hand, scanning through the addresses. Mr. Ellis on the other hand, even though his behaviour had turned out to be fairly smooth over breakfast, swivelled his neck around a bit too eagerly, midway forgetting the last piece of toast he was going to raise to his jaw. “Um, certainly Mr. Barrow, no problem.” He placed the bit of bread back on his plate and wiped his hands on the fabric of his trousers. Whether that was to get rid of nerves or crumbs, Mrs. Hughes could not tell.

The housekeeper kept sitting, unimpressed, and continued to drink her black tea while the two men left her peripheral vision. She heard the small click of the pantry door closing behind her.

Anna’s eyes had followed them out of the room and were now searching Mrs. Hughes for an explanation for the abrupt departure. Mrs. Hughes did not grant her an answer; instead, she blew air in to the hot water in her mug.

The lady’s maid smirked at her, “Don’t you think you can leave me in the dark. I’ll find out sooner or later.”

She got up, picking up a piece of clothing that had lain in front of her, perhaps to mend it. Mrs. Hughes gave an affronted scoff. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

Anna clicked her tongue and left the servants’ hall as well. Mrs. Hughes, without anyone left to watch her, finally gave in to the urge of rolling her eyes.

Why did the boys have to make it so obvious.

…..

The morning turned in to noon and then in to afternoon. By the time it was five o’clock, Mr. Ellis announced his departure, him having to return to his Royal duties early the next day. Mr. Barrow, without much convincing needed, offered to accompany him to the station and soon the men left the house, so one of them could catch the Express to London on time.

The servants had bid him farewell with a bit of a heavy heart, obviously having enjoyed the short stay of the amiable valet. Mrs. Hughes had concluded over breakfast that Mr. Ellis was definitely the sociable half of the Barrow-Ellis-dynamic. He used his wit and sharpness to draw everyone within reach in to his tales, in a manner, which left everybody wanting to hear more. It was magical in a way, like a spell cast across the room.

Mr. Barrow did not have that gift. He did have the intelligence, astuteness and, in Mrs. Hughes’ opinion, the humour, basically all of the ingredients you needed to build a respectable man. Yet, he was unsure of how to use these skills without hurting somebody in the process. Mrs. Hughes hoped, with all her strength, that Mr. Ellis would stick around long enough to discover the same and perhaps help the butler to embrace his softer, kinder side. She trusted the man to a degree that he would be able to heal parts of Mr. Barrow others had broken. And that Mr. Barrow could learn to see the wonders of the world without poison pumping through his veins.

Mrs. Hughes found it easier to sympathise with the butler ever since he had started to thaw, after he had returned to Downton. He had involved her in to more and more little bits of his life, until she had finally been able to get a grand picture of the island named Thomas Barrow. His inclination towards the same sex had isolated him from anyone, who had tried to approach the shores of his personality over the years. That included his parents, neighbours, friends at school, siblings - the list continued.

Mrs. Hughes remembered the times in her life, when she felt, she had been all alone. The thought of those periods being the entirety of her life, scared her truly. The feeling of being unbearable, a burden to everyone around you, the elephant in which ever room you stepped in to. And that not sometimes, but all day, every day, without an escape? The thought was too horrible to finish.

The weight of the world on his shoulders, Mrs. Hughes had committed to not being an additional sandbag tied to Mr. Barrow’s ankle. The least she could do, if she was unable to share his emotional trauma, was to ensure he was able to seek comfort with likeminded folk. And Mr. Ellis seemed like the most perfect, sensible candidate, the heavens could have come up with.

A beacon of light, maybe slightly late, but still just in time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope none of you guys are sick! And if so, make sure you have a team of Mrs. Patmore, Anna and Mrs. Hughes to take care of you! You'll be better in no time then!


	5. October

The lumpish pitter-patter of rain sounded a bit like a melodious drum, played by the forces of nature. The staff in the dry house were busy going after their professions, a bunch of them spending time in the livery to polish the muddy shoes of the noble family. Autumn was not kind to fashion, Mrs. Hughes was struggling to remove stains of mud from all shapes and forms of clothing. The worst was Lady Mary’s horse riding gear, which had been drenched in bog during a ride in the forest. Mrs. Hughes was scrubbing away at the fabric, cursing the weird hobbies of aristocrats. She really could imagine using her time on other things.

At least she had company, Anna equally annoyed with a dirty pair of boots and Ms. Baxter serenely sewing together cloth with her buzzing machine. The sound was in a way calming to the nerves. The three of them worked in silence, concentrating on their tasks, Mrs. Hughes only breaking it with a ‘bloody hell’ now and again. Ms. Baxter chastised her swearing with a ‘tss’.

After some time Anna came up with a topic of conversation that helped to deflect Mrs. Hughes’ aggression.

“Ms. Baxter, what’s your opinion on Mr. Ellis? You know, the Royal valet who came to visit a few weeks ago?”

The brunette removed her foot from the manual pedal, stopping the machine’s eager stitching.

“I think he’s a very nice man. Seemed to be kind and funny.” She nodded to affirm her statement. “I hope it wasn’t the last time we’ve seen him. Why do you ask?”

She looked at the other lady’s maid. Mrs. Hughes put down the pair of beige trousers she was handling and joined in on the questionnaire. “Yes, why exactly is that bothering you?”

Anna had an impish look on her face. “Oh, it’s just that I’m fairly sure we haven’t seen the best of him. Not if he can help it anyway.” Her eyes glinted with suggestion.

“What do you mean?”, Ms. Baxter asked confused and innocently.

Anna shot her an obvious glance. “Did you seriously not notice? He could barely keep his eyes off of Mr. Barrow the whole time!” She forcefully positioned one of the boots on the table.

The lady’s maid to Lady Grantham looked as if something was dawning on her, the clockwork of her mind clicking in to place at the insinuation.

“Now that you’re saying it, I did see Mr. Barrow and Mr. Ellis emerging from the boiler room together… I didn’t want to assume anything indecent, but Mr. Barrow’s hair in retrospect looked tousled compared to his normal slick-as-an-eel hairstyle.”

The lady’s maids chortled at the confession, now focusing their demanding gazes on Mrs. Hughes. They were expecting a confirmation of their suspicions by the second authority in the house. The housekeeper felt beaten. No point in denying anything after Ms. Baxter’s very indicative observations.

Mrs. Hughes closed her eyes, sighed and gave them a teeny tiny nod. The other two woman squealed in victory, visibly excited at the prospect of future gossip. Mrs. Hughes, against her better judgement, felt a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“But please, you both, keep it to yourselves. This is the kind of secret that really cannot get out.” She appointed them with an earnest stare.

“Don’t worry Mrs. Hughes”, Anna smiled, “We’re basically trained to keep information to ourselves. It’s our speciality.”

She shared a knowing look with Ms. Baxter. All three returned back to their duties on hand, soon Anna being the one swearing at an unremovable spot. Mrs. Hughes hypocritically scolded her this time.

…..

It was early in the morning, the sun rising later and later with every day that passed, and the servants quietly nourished themselves at the breakfast table. Mrs. Patmore and Daisy were fighting over the news of a civil war having kicked off in China, Daisy advocating for the Communist group, unions and peasants over there, fighting for their rights and freedoms. Mrs. Patmore begged to differ, explaining that the years of 1914 to 1918 had evidently shown, what destruction violent protests were capable of causing and it not being worth the losses going hand in hand with such a revolution. That statement made Daisy topple in to a rant about the power of the enlightened, free and educated individual, and in her rage, nobody dared to contradict. Quite a heavy topic for the first meal of the day.

The mood was a mite suppressed after the outburst. Fortunately, Andrew then joined the others with the morning post, which had just been delivered. He walked around, handing out letters to the receivers and then walked out once more to return with a parcel, wrapped in brown paper and string.

“This one’s for you, Mr. Barrow.” Andrew handed over the package to the butler.

Mrs. Hughes furrowed her brows. “Did you order anything?”

Mr. Barrow shrugged his shoulders at the question, placing the bundle on the table.

“Not that I’m aware”, he answered, checking the address scribbled in to one of the upper side corners. He seemed to recognise the handwriting, due to the wrinkles on his forehead smoothening out with a grin.

“It’s from Mr. Ellis”, he enlightened the housekeeper after noticing her questioning glance. Mrs. Hughes took a bite of her toast, motioning for him to open the mysterious parcel. The butler followed her instructions, untying the string and ripping off the paper to reveal a cardboard box. He opened the lid and peeked in to the depths of the package. Some of the other servants were curiously watching him now as well.

“Oh”, Mr. Barrow uttered with a pleasant surprise, changing his facial features. His hands extracted a sheet of paper from the inside of the parcel and regarded it for a second, coming to some sort of conclusion. “I think this present’s for everyone here.”

He turned around the opened box and tilted it towards the back of the table for everybody to inspect the contents. What they could see were little sand-coloured, squishy pieces of dough piled on top of each other.

“Mr. Ellis has sent us some madeleines”, the butler finally lifted the suspense. A chorus of delighted ‘ahs’ and ‘ohs’ echoed from the table, intrigued by the thoughtful gift. Mr. Barrow handed the box over to his left, so all the staff could pass it around and help themselves to the sweet treats. Soon, the only sound in the room was munching and moans of contentment, as they indulged in the light and fluffy comfort of French baking.

“These don’t taste like a human at all”, Mrs. Patmore acknowledged, taking another bite of her cake. “I wish I knew how to make these, they’re positively scrumptious.”

“Well, we’re in luck Mrs. Patmore. Mr. Ellis has stolen and sent us the recipe, with ‘the kindest regards to the best cook he knows’, directed at you.” Mr. Barrow had read the wishes from the enclosed letter, pointing towards Mrs. Patmore, who beamed at the compliment.

“I do hope you make them some time, these are delicious”, Mr. Molesley added, already cramping the third pastry in to his mouth. The servants concurred wholeheartedly.

The morning had been rescued.

…..

The same day, just past lunch, Mrs. Hughes felt the very urgent need to relieve herself.

She had not been able to powder her nose until now, very diligently planning the big family trip to London in a few days’ time, and therefore was in distress about whether she could hold it in much longer. The walk up to the servants’ corridor, where the magical place called the bathroom belonged to, was quite long since you had to walk up three flights of stairs and along another few halls to get there. It seemed almost insurmountable when you had a full bladder.

So naturally, Mrs. Hughes was focusing very hard to remain in control of the pressure as she ascended the last few steps. She quickly moved around the handrail and spurted towards the bathroom door. With one hand, she pushed the white door open and almost cried out with joy at having made it, when the moving wood hit someone’s shoulder on the other side of the door.

It turned out to be Mr. Barrow, who was standing in front of the mirror. But Mrs. Hughes could not give him any attention in these dire times.

“Excuse me”, she hurried, pushing a protesting butler out the door, not giving him any chance to resist. She banged the door closed and finally sat down to do her business. What a wonderful feeling.

Mr. Barrow was still not discouraged though, knocking on the door with a loud, “I’m sorry?! Can’t I have some privacy?”

“I am the one, who needs some privacy now!”, Mrs. Hughes so much as shouted, still triggered by the almost-in-her-undies accident that could have happened some mere seconds ago. “Get over yourself!”

It was only then that the housekeeper noticed all of the stuff lying in the sink. A tub of hair gel, a comb, some other containers she was unable to identify. Her train of thought was broken by the slightly aggravated Mr. Barrow outside, who kicked the door, eliciting a loud smack from it.

Mrs. Hughes could not believe the immaturity of it.

“Oi! Watch it!”

To attempt a truce, she added, “One more second, then I’m done.” She got up, flushed the toilet and reopened the door, ready to teach the man some manners, when she actually got a good look of him for the first time.

She burst out laughing.

The butler was pouting at her with a sort of chaos on his head, his hair sticking out to one side like the leaning tower of Pisa. He attempted to flatten it down to make it less obvious, but Mrs. Hughes had seen enough to slap her thigh in hysterics at the sight. Mr. Barrow manoeuvred her back in to the bathroom, following right behind her and locking them both in to the tile clad room. Mrs. Hughes had to lean on the sink in order to recover from her fit.

Mr. Barrow was poking the inside of his cheek with his tongue, only commenting flatly, “Yeah, really funny.”

The housekeeper slowly went back to breathing normally. Her eyes, filled with moisture, settled back on to the spectacle that was the butler’s head and gurgled once more, before regaining her composure.

“I am truly sorry Mr. Barrow.”

He gave her a look, then glanced to his left in to the mirror over the sink and sighed dejectedly.

“Me too for you having to witness this.”

The butler ruffled the mess of his hair with both hands, creating an even wilder appearance. His countenance was woeful.

“Now, now, there’s nothing one can’t fix”, Mrs. Hughes stepped closer to assess the situation, “Besides, what’s it you’re actually trying to achieve?”

Mr. Barrow fiddled with the end of his sleeve. “I thought I’d try something new. Y’know, like in the magazines.” He sulked at his own naivety.

Mrs. Hughes prodded at the sculpture on his head. “Alright, let me see what I can- Wait, I actually have a splendid idea.” She smiled mysteriously and let herself out, walking along the corridor to knock on Ms. Baxter’s door, whom she had seen walking up here after the last meal. And really, the lady’s maid opened the door.

“Hello Mrs. Hughes”, she said a bit confounded.

“Yes, Ms. Baxter, I think I need a helping hand.” She gestured for the younger woman to follow her.

Ms. Baxter obediently followed her back to the bathroom. When they entered, Mr. Barrow was sitting on the closed toilet lid, his hair combed down in to a more normal state. He tiredly looked at them both.

Mrs. Hughes began to explain, why she had called for help. “Mr. Barrow here wants a change in looks, but doesn’t know how to walk the walk. Perhaps you might know…?”

The lady’s maid had started to smile fondly at that. She approached the man and ran her fingers through his hair, an analytical gaze on her face.

“What was it you were going for?”

Mr. Barrow remained silent, refusing to answer the question.

Ms. Baxter gave him a funny look, “How am I supposed to help you if you don’t tell me what it’s you’re after?”

Anyhow, the butler only shifted in his seat, visibly uneasy. After some more quiet moments, where the ladies eyed him pryingly, he gave in.

“Fine”, he exclaimed, exasperated. He looked down at his wringing hands and mumbled, “I was gonna try that swoopy thing Mr. Ellis does with his hair. ‘Was a stupid idea.”

Mrs. Hughes and Ms. Baxter shared an amused and equally touched expression at the admission. They were in agreement that Mr. Barrow had it real bad.

The skilled lady’s maid moved to gather some of the entities from the sink and settled them on the windowsill beside the toilet.

“I think a wave might not be the right fit for you, but I’ve got something else in mind.”

She plastered a heap of gel on to the butler’s crow-black hair and motioned away from her, redirecting the strands of hair to the back. Then, with the comb, she neatly positioned all the little hairs at his temples and neck, subsequently stepping back and examining her work. The style was very sleek and austere, with the shaved sides and the backcomb on top, but it accentuated his sharp facial bone structure and looked very fashionable. Mrs. Hughes was impressed what a little gel and experienced hands could produce.

Ms. Baxter wiped her hands on a towel to get rid of the sticky modelling clay. “Go and have a look”, she instructed him.

Carefully, Mr. Barrow made his way over to the mirror, catching a glimpse of himself in it, and his eyes lit up in wonder.

“That’s incredible, Ms. Baxter”, he marvelled while touching the top of his head. He turned around to her and shot her a lopsided smile. “Thank you.”

“Anytime”, smiled the lady’s maid, ”It’s nice, not having to handle long hair for once.” She hung the towel back on the rack and left the confines of the bathroom with a final smile directed at Mrs. Hughes, who quietly nodded her thanks. In her opinion, Mr. Barrow had needed a boost in confidence. And he did leave the room a bit taller, than he had stood before.

…..

“I’m so sorry to interrupt Milady”, Mrs. Hughes excused herself, stepping in to the library, “But I was finally able to make your trousers presentable.” She held up the piece of clothing that had mercifully come clean after a few days of attempts.

“Oh wonderful, thank you Mrs. Hughes.” Lady Mary sauntered over from where she had been sitting on the red settee. She took them in hand and held them up to inspect. “I do worry that they will be ruined as soon as I get back on a horse.”

She gave the housekeeper an apologising look, who knew the Lady well enough by now, to expect that she would be repeating the washing procedure by tomorrow night. Mrs. Hughes suppressed a sigh.

“No worries, Milady, that’s what I’m here for.”

At the other end of the lounge, the Earl entered the room, a sealed letter in his hand. He walked towards the bell and rang for the butler.

“My darling, is dinner for tonight still confirmed? Or will you leave me as everyone nowadays does?”

His Lordship was pitying himself, due to Lady Grantham’s fully packed schedule concerning the hospital. He was still used to a house full of people.

Mr. Barrow entered in that moment, the same way the Earl had come in.

“You rang, My Lord?”

“Yes Barrow, I’ve got a letter, which needs urgent delivery. I’d be very grateful, if you could ensure its conveyance.”

“Certainly, My Lord.” The butler stepped closer to accept the envelope and then walked past the Earl to depart through the other door, Mrs. Hughes stood next to. When he passed her and had almost reached the exit, Her Ladyship piped up.

“I like your new hair Barrow. It’s very cutting edge. It suits you.”

The butler’s expression was a bit dumbfounded at the unexpected compliment.

“Thank you, Milady”, was all he managed to respond before leaving the library for good.

Mrs. Hughes subtly dusted off imaginary lint from her shoulders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, I know changing Thomas' hair could be quite controversial, but hear me out. My half-German self was a bit uncomfortable with the style they gave him in the movie, because it resembles the Nazi haircut popular in the 1930s. So it's very historically accurate, but I like being egoistic. The hairstyle described in this chapter is a low-fade, slicked back undercut, loosely based on Arthur Shelby's style from Peaky Blinders, obviously not as short on the sides and not as long on top though. Whoever thinks, Mr. Rob James-Collier couldn't pull it off, can fight me personally.


	6. November

The trees in the gardens had turned from rich and golden to something bare and bleak. The naked branches split the frosty, steel blue sky in to smaller pieces, forming a mosaic above the heads of the residents of the estate. The gravel bay in front of the main entrance was bustling with activity.

The parts of the Crawley family that to this day still resided at Downton were collectively heading in to London for Lady Rosamund’s birthday, involving most of the staff, who needed to prepare a dinner and a dance there. Even though Mrs. Hughes knew from experience that these kind of ventures were an exhaustive nightmare of planning, she felt a buzz of joyous anticipation for the special event. With the noble children around, demanding everyone’s attention pretty much all of the time, many invitations to balls or similar festivities over the years had been declined by either the Earl, Mr. Branson or Lady Mary. Parenting was enough of an event to keep you on your toes constantly.

Hence, Lady Rosamund not taking no for an answer was a welcome change of routine for the Abbey’s staff. And since grandparents, parents and some children were all coming, it would be a busy weekend for the workers.

Mrs. Hughes was hurriedly checking her clipboard for any points she might have missed on her to-do list, which stretched out over a few pages. In the distance, one could see Mr. Barrow doing the exact same thing. The housekeeper was very glad to have an equally diligent and thorough colleague by her side, who mastered the challenges of this trip with a proficiency, only a true butler could perform. It made the organising at least a bit less stressful.

When bags, containers and cars were loaded to the brim, the little migration set sail to catch the train at eleven. Mrs. Hughes could hardly believe the moment when she was able to sit down in her third class seat and stretch out her tired legs. The number of steps she had walked that morning must have been absurdly high.

Now, she found herself relaxing in the warm air of the carriage, surrounded by Anna, the other housemaids and the hall boy, singular. The Lady Grantham had thought it unfit to employ any more, since the hall looked “certainly acceptable for a home in 1927”.

Across the aisle from Mrs. Hughes’ spot a vacant seat was left, reserved for Mr. Barrow, who was still running about, making sure no bags, or people mind you, had been forgotten. After a while, he stepped in through the delicate glass door connecting the car with the previous one, a shine of perspiration on his forehead. He slumped in to the free chair, wiping at his greying temples with his jacket sleeve, sighing deeply. The look on his face was a fine line between eagerness and annoyance.

“My, you look cheerful this morning”, Mrs. Hughes joked. His eyes traced the comment back to her person, lips pursed, condescendingly glaring at her. He already looked like he could nap then and there.

Mrs. Hughes gave a little laugh and handed him a bundle of sandwiches she had prepared as a little pick-me-up for meltdowns such as this one. Mr. Barrow eyed the package of grease paper and finally gave in, snatching it from her outstretched hand like a starving hyena. A quiet “thanks” was added when he observed the chastising look on her face.

Anna was way more bright in that moment. “Oh, c’mon Mr. Barrow, cheer up a bit, after all we’re going to London. For the first time in ages!” The whole seating cove of staff agreed with excited chimes. One of the younger housemaids even said with wonder in her voice, it would be her first trip to the capital. Well, if that was not enough to raise the spirits in the car, then Mrs. was at a loss of ideas.

The childlike awe from the younger travellers was indeed infectious enough for Mr. Barrow to crack a smile. He abandoned the sagging position he had sat in for a more erect one, probably eating the food in his hands too fast for his own good. But a satiated man was a happy man, and no-one else knew that with as much certainty as Mrs. Hughes.

The journey to London was supported by light conversation about things that could be seen and done, when the servants got some time off after the birthday. Mrs. Hughes caught Mr. Barrow staring dreamily out of the window a few times, revealing blurred, green landscapes and cattle. She could tell by the look in his eyes that he might be looking forward the most to arriving in the metropole, and perhaps, she was also able to guess why.

…..

“Whose fingers do I need to belt for misplacing Lady Mary’s ball dress?!”

This was exactly the type of unprofessionalism, or honestly just blind stupidity, Mrs. Hughes did not need on the evening of a huge social gathering. She had been sprinting from room to room, like on a never-ending carousel, preventing catastrophes from happening left, right and centre. Fortunately, Lady Rosamund’s city house was not as spacious as Downton Abbey, otherwise Mrs. Hughes would have had to change in to sporting wear.

Most of her day was spent supervising the transportation and delivery of bags to the assigned rooms, making sure gowns and hats were in place for the party and showing the newer staff around to familiarise themselves with the unknown environment. Mrs. Patmore already was in a pre-stage of panic, preparing the masses of vegetables and pastry doughs needed for the night, and Mr. Barrow was trying to keep everything under control. There was a rush in the air, no denying that, but compared to the Royal visit in summer, this could just as easily have been the preparations for a children’s birthday party. Accordingly, everything was at the ready when the time arrived and everybody occupied their racing position for the event. It was showtime.

Hours later, the rising sun peaking in to the basement through the little windows among the wall adjacent to the street, the servants raised their glasses to another successful session. Her Ladyship, Lady Grantham had come downstairs a few minutes ago and announced that the staff had done their job well and were discharged for the night and the following day. Everybody had sleep crust gathering in their eyes, knackered after hours of serving and being friendly towards unfamiliar faces. But the mood was happy and fulfilled, and each member of the staff was elated to get to their bed and wake up to a day of leisure. It would be the highlight of the trip, to the team downstairs at least.

…..

Mrs. Hughes made an unsure countenance at Mr. Bates’ proposition. “Do you really think that would be appropriate? The worst thing I can imagine is having to explain to His Lordship, why all of his domestic workers got caught up in a rammy at a jazz club.”

The housekeeper was being begged for a yes to visit a night club by a whole group of servants, all surrounding her like a gaggle of geese, and not letting her move until she conceded. After at least ten minutes of debate, Mr. Bates had spoken up, telling Mrs. Hughes that she surely had other ways to waste her time than denying young people a fun night out. She had been surprised that he was the one to put in a word for the servants, but after thinking much about pros and cons, she admitted that, when even Mr. Bates was on board, it could not be that bad. Besides, every member of staff was a fully grown adult in the eyes of the law and should they get in to trouble, they would not be her legal responsibility. Plus, she knew that her approval was just another argument to use in the actual battle, which would be the debate to try and convince the butler. He would be the one in charge and therefore a tough nut to crack. How fun that conversation was going to be.

“I swear, Mrs. Hughes, we’ll be tame as a lamb.” Daisy’s eyes looked as if they were going to pop out of her skull at any moment, pleading for the life of her. “Pleeease!”

“Alright, alright, you’ve got me.” Mrs. Hughes knew when she was defeated. The servants clapped and whooped at the step towards their goal. “But all I can do is ask Mr. Barrow. If he says no, I’m afraid my hands are tied.”

Daisy’s grin almost split her face in two, “Don’t you worry Mrs. Hughes, I know how persuasive you are, when you want to be.” Mrs. Hughes gave her a pointed look.

“Right then, well done everybody yesterday.” Mr. Barrow entered the kitchen with sweeping steps, causing everyone to rise to their feet. “As you all know by now, Her Ladyship was kind enough to give us the day off, so I’m here to ask, if anyone has suggestions for spending the day.” He attentively looked at the group in front of him, sitting down. The rest of them followed suit.

All eyes were on the housekeeper. Mrs. Hughes cleared her throat. “Mr. Barrow, the majority of the people here have asked me to ask you, whether it would be possible to… well… visit a night club. One with a jazz band and all that.” She conveyed her disapproval of the idea to him by painting a pained expression on to her visage.

She was definitely expecting some kind of resistance, since it was the butler’s job to be the conservative voice of reason among them, although Mrs. Hughes had to admit that Mr. Barrow was not ever going to beat Mr. Carson at that. She had already prepared her speech of convincement in her head and almost opened her mouth to begin with it, when Mr. Barrow’s slightly surprised face with a perfected pout and raised eyebrows gave his response.

“Well, who am I to not give the people what they want.”

Another outburst of joy from the young members of staff. Hands drumming on the table and cries of victory reverberating from the stone walls.

“But I don’t want anyone gettin’ in to trouble.” The butler made a serious expression at that, pointing at the ones, who had cheered the loudest. “Otherwise, we’ll be home before anyone can say ‘ragtime’.”

“Absolutely, Mr. Barrow”, Anna answered, smiling at the news. She and Mr. Bates had not gone out for a date in ages, due to their lovely child, so the chance to go to a restaurant, even if it was going to be a noisy one, was a thrilling thought.

“When are we gonna leave then?”, asked one of the housemaids.

Most of the day had already passed, because of the late night of work they had had yesterday. Mr. Barrow took out a pocket watch from the inside of his butler blazer. “It’s just about four now, so if we leave by half six, that’ll give us plenty of time out.”

Daisy jumped up and hurriedly asked, “Can we then go and get ready, Mr. Barrow?”

“Certainly, we’ll meet here again and then leave together. Don’t be late.”

He stood up to signalise that everyone could leave the room if they wished to do so. All of the handmaids scuttled out, already discussing, what they would wear and how on earth they were going to manage to fix their hair in time. Mrs. Hughes had to smile at the innocence of it all. Being young was a gift she had lost many years ago.

“That was very kind of you”, she spoke to the butler, who had sat back down to work on a letter. He looked up from the paper and gave her a look of understanding. “We all were young and excited once, Mrs. Hughes, I didn’t want to be the grumpy old man, spoiling everyone’s fun.” He smirked lopsidedly, when Mrs. Hughes softly laughed with sympathy at the comment. Her mind had been changed on the subject by similar thoughts.

Mr. Barrow gestured around with his black pen, “Besides, who knows, we might enjoy ourselves.”

The lot of them shared a final nod of agreement and then made sure to get started on some chores that needed to be done, before a night on the town. Work for a housekeeper never ended, even when on holiday.

…..

When Mrs. Hughes stepped in to the underground place, it was as if she had crashed in to a wall of smoke, noise and heat. Her senses were a bit overwhelmed by the situation. When her eyes had adapted to the dim light of the club, she was in a better state to take in the hidden world she had just entered.

The night club was the downstairs part of a much more sophisticated restaurant. The stairs in front of the white, posh London house led down in to a narrow hall, plastered with posters of dark skinned singers and musicians and packed with people in sequin costumes. The further you walked in, the darker and warmer it got, and when Mrs. Hughes started to feel claustrophobic, the hallway opened up in to a large, festive ballroom, even busier than the hallway. There were little round tables set up along the tall walls, adorned with white tablecloths and flowers, and in the back one could see a stage, claimed by a band of seven, obviously American, jazz artists playing their hearts out. But all of that was barely visible through the crowd of people dancing their heels off, twirling and shaking, dresses and suits shimmering in the shine of impressive chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. The smell of sweet alcohol and cigarettes hung in the air, a fog of smoke lingering above the heads of the masses. The music was loud and grating and provided a beat, which could carry one through the whole night without even thinking about the word ‘tired’.

The sight was in fact so spectacular that Mrs. Hughes only realised after a few moments that she had been standing glued to the spot, taking in the spectacle. The younger servants, who had followed her in to the club, could not help but be in awe, staring at the nightly scene with their jaws dropping to their feet. When a group of annoyed dancers rudely pushed past them in to the venue, Mrs. Hughes came back to her role as the leader. She turned around and waved at the Downton staff to follow her to one of the less crowded corners with a few empty chairs. It looked like she was the teacher on a class excursion, keeping a group of pupils together and moving. The herd made its way across the room with Mr. Barrow at the back to make sure nobody got lost in the process. It must have been quite the funny site, Mrs. Hughes had to hide a giggle.

As soon as coats and handbags had been abandoned on a chair that was now being supervised by the elders of the group, the handmaids and other young service workers plunged themselves with shrieks of ecstasy in to the dancing sea of people. Mrs. Hughes on the other hand sat down in between Mr. Barrow and Mr. Bates, the three of them and Anna scanning the club for sources of trouble. Mrs. Patmore had remained at home, too exhausted after last night to spend the evening on her feet again, and Ms. Baxter and Mr. Molesley joined the young servants straight away on the dancefloor. Mr. Barrow ordered them a round of drinks when a waiter came by their table.

He pulled out his wallet. “It’s on me.”

“Oh, how nice of you!” Anna spoke for the whole table. Mr. Bates caught her staring longingly at the dancers.

“You want to join them, don’t you?”

Anna redirected her gaze at him and smiled lovingly. “No, I’m perfectly fine here.”

Mr. Bates took her hand. “It’s alright, I know you do,” his thumb moving back and forth across her palm, “My darling, go and have a little fun. It’s not every night you find yourself in a jazz club in London.”

The lady’s maid gave his hand a squeeze in response. “Who would I even dance with, if not with you?”

Mr. Bates grinned and cheekily looked to his left, “How about Mr. Barrow?”

“Absolutely not”, was all the butler had to say to that, before taking a swig from his bottle of beer. The others laughed at that.

“How about me?”

All of the servants’ heads whipped around at the unidentified voice coming from behind the table.

There stood, in one of the numerous night clubs in one of the biggest cities in the world, no one other than Mr. Ellis, a smile as bright as the sun on his face, looking dead smart in a black bow tie and suit, fitting in to the crowd way better than the rubes sitting at the table.

“Mr. Ellis! Now, if that isn’t a surprise!” Mrs. Hughes was absolutely delighted to see the man. She had had no idea that he was coming, but judging by the smiley look of him, Mr. Barrow certainly had. Suddenly it became clear to Mrs. Hughes, why he had agreed so quickly to the suggestion of the night club. The cunning work of an evil mastermind, but Mrs. Hughes kept that to herself.

Mr. Ellis walked around the table, shook the men’s hands, Mr. Barrow’s hello lingering just a second longer, and gave Mrs. Hughes and Anna each a kiss on the cheek.

“What now, do I get my dance or not?” Mr. Ellis offered his hand to The Mrs. Bates, who coyly looked back at Mr. Bates to obtain his approval. He smiled and nodded at her, and said to Mr. Ellis, “Only if you hand her back by the end of the night.”

“Of course”, Mr. Ellis smiled and led a beaming Anna away in to the mad maze of people. The music piece climaxed and got even faster than it had before. Mr. Bates used that and his empty drink for an excuse to go to the bathroom. Him leaving meant that now, the only ones left at the small table, were Mr. Barrow and Mrs. Hughes. They both looked at the rambunctious crowd, and for some reason Mrs. Hughes felt a little sentimental. She just about condoned jazz, but she had always preferred Bach to whoever the children these days listened to on the radio. Yet, she nabbed herself in that moment, wishing her Charles was there to lead her on to the dance floor, if not to enjoy the music, at least to relish the atmosphere. She smiled to herself. Mr. Carson, down here, in a jazz club in London? For all she knew, it was more likely to see him doing a handstand in front of His Lordship with a dandelion between his teeth. Yes, she missed him dearly.

Mrs. Hughes was awoken out of her reverie, when she noticed Mr. Barrow rummaging through his trouser pockets. She focused her attention on the expression on his face, a mixture of discomfort and chagrin darkening the features of his sharp facial bones. She followed his gaze in to the dancing lot, realising that he was staring daggers at the back of Anna’s head.

“Are you well, Mr. Barrow?” She spoke with gentle concern in her voice.

“What?” He turned to look at her. “Yes, sure. Just in need of a cigarette.” His nervous hands gave up on the futile search.

Mrs. Hughes frowned. He had not smoked in months. Ever since the Royal visit, to be precise.

Oh. A cog in her head clicked at that. That was the issue.

She was dealing with a jealous man.

Mrs. Hughes wondered what the best way to approach this was. Mr. Barrow had never really been the active talker when it came to his emotions, but she had to at least try to talk some sense in to silly him.

“You are aware that Anna is happily married, correct?”

Mr. Barrow faced her with the most languished expression, only a lovesick fool could muster up. Mrs. Hughes had to sternly remind herself to remain serious.

“This is ridiculous, Mr. Barrow. You yourself said that we’d come here to have fun and I’m not going to waste my evening sulking in the corner.” Mr. Barrow pouted offendedly at her optimism. Mrs. Hughes rolled her eyes and got up with newly drawn energy.

Mr. Bates returned to the table at that moment.

“Mr. Bates, would you please watch the personal belongings while Mr. Barrow and I dance?”

Both of the men looked, as if Mrs. Hughes had just grown a second head.

“No, problem Mrs. Hughes. Enjoy yourselves.” Mr. Bates tapped Mr. Barrow on the back of his shoulder, indicating that he was going to take his seat. Mr. Barrow got up at that, at loss of an excuse to extract himself from the situation. Before he could come up with a lame alibi, Mrs. Hughes grabbed his sleeve, lifted up her skirt with the other hand and led the confused man on to the middle of the dancefloor.

The pair took the position of a dancing couple and swayed as well as they could to the strange rhythm of jazz. The housekeeper and the butler observed their surroundings, both seemingly at the same time coming to the realisation that both their ages combined made them ancient compared to the other dancers, and way underdressed as well. With that thought on their mind, they caught each other’s eye and began to snort with laughter. The absurdity of the situation almost made them topple over, much to the inconvenience of the pairs around them. But Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Barrow could not care less at that time. They laughed and danced through the song, carefree and relaxed, and through the following one, and the next one after that.

Only then did Mrs. Hughes complain about blisters starting to form at the back of her heels. “I should have brought my dancing shoes”, she exhaled, breathing heavier due to the exercise. Mr. Barrow’s cheeks had turned rosy as well and they agreed to head back to their table.

When they finally managed to scramble through the moving crowd, they saw Mr. Bates, Anna and Mr. Ellis sitting back in their chairs, animatedly chatting over drinks set in front of them. They laughed when housekeeper and butler approached the table, the three of them welcoming them with outstretched arms, demanding more drinks from a waiter next to them.

There were two vacant seats left, side-by-side, one next to Anna and one to Mr. Ellis. Mrs. Hughes, with all consciousness, promptly sat down next to Anna, so Mr. Barrow was compelled to take a seat next to Mr. Ellis. The valet shot him a secret, fond wink and the butler ducked his chin to hide the bashful smile expanding on his lips.

Both of them looked appealing in their own ways: Mr. Ellis impressed with his posh fashion, gelled hair and all in all cutting edge pizzazz. Mr. Barrow was shaggier than that, but the tint on his cheeks, dishevelled black strands of hair falling in to his eyes and the white shirt with a vest over it, jacket abandoned, made him look very handsome in a casual way. The two men together were indeed a treat for the eye, Mrs. Hughes decided.

The five of them talked, laughed and drank in to the wee hours of the morning, careful to stay sober enough to be in control. It would have been immensely embarrassing, if the young folk would have to carry them back to Lady Rosamund’s property and so, they behaved themselves. At some point, most of the staff had accumulated at the table, and Mrs. Hughes had taken the liberty to announce their going home then. She had not faced much protest, since the housemaids and others were trying to stifle yawn after yawn. Therefore, they all soon got dressed and stepped back in to the narrow hallway, acting as a tunnel back in to the reality of the cold streets of London.

They strolled along the pavements towards Belgrave Square, giggling and singing and floundering with the inebriation of alcohol and contentedness. Mrs. Hughes was laughing her head off at something Anna had said, when she became aware of Mr. Barrow and Mr. Ellis having fallen back behind the group quite a bit. Mrs. Hughes turned around fully to see, why they were taking so long, when she realised that they were standing still, heads tilted back, staring up at the night sky. Because it was so cold, it was November after all, there were no clouds in the sky and so the view of the stars was marvellous. Mrs. Hughes smiled at the romantic display of the scene.

Mr. Ellis felt her look on them first, bumping in to Mr. Barrow’s shoulder to redirect his attention to the road and they both started moving again. Mrs. Hughes turned around as well, almost feeling guilty for disrupting the moment. But walking back, surrounded by her friendly and happy work family, she concluded that the evening could not have gone better if they had tried – and an achievement of that sort did not leave any space for negative feelings.

…..

The next morning, the train rattled below their feet, making calming, rhythmic noises as it dashed along the tracks. It was a very wet and stormy day, a soup of thick, low clouds brewing where the sky was supposed to be. Thanks to the weather, there was no view out of the window, but that did not bother the Downton staff, who were all resting their eyes to combat the headaches most of them had, either from a hangover or lack of sleep. Therefore, the cabin was very peaceful, and it would be, until they arrived at their destination and their normal routine would pick up again.

Mrs. Hughes had also briefly slumbered, not being able to resist the cosy warmth inside the train compartment combined with the quietness. Her eyelids had just been too heavy after only two hours of rest the night before.

She startled awake though when the train went in to a bend rather vehemently and slowly blinked away the sleep blurring her vision. She oriented herself, taking note of all the other relaxed faces, tilted backwards or sideways to rest their heads on the backrests of their seats. After a while, her wavering gaze settled on the only soul apparently not fast asleep, sitting by the window, two seats away from her. The colour of his white face was illuminated by the reflected light from the clouds outside, almost translucent in appearance, contrasting with the dark collar of his suit jacket.

Mr. Barrow had his chin on his chest, looking down at something in his glove-clad hands. It was a shining object, too small for Mrs. Hughes to exactly make out from her position, but when the butler turned the item with his fingers, a necklace attached became visible. It must have been something like a medallion, or a pendant. She shifted her eyes back up to Mr. Barrow’s face, a look of adoration and melancholy shining in his eyes. He breathed in shakily and tucked the piece of metal back in to the inside pocket of his jacket, sank a bit further in to his seat and watched the shades of grey passing by the window, little droplets of water now cascading down the pane.

Mrs. Hughes felt a pang of compassion for the man, whose features looked more hollow than usual. She could understand the sorrow of parting all too well, and as fun as last night had been, Mr. Barrow had not been able to privately talk to his clandestine sweetheart, which must have been a pity for Royal valet and butler. But as harsh as it may have sounded, it was the reality they lived in. And at least, that was what Mrs. Hughes thought, at least they existed in that reality together, having each other’s backs.

She involuntarily closed her eyes again. The train tooted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually had the idea for this scene after I watched real live footage from a jazz club in London at that time on YouTube and it was so cool that I decided it needed to be in the story.


	7. December

The end of the year was fast approaching and with every passing day leading up to Christmas, Mrs. Hughes found more and more to do. She and Lady Mary had compromised on the staff working over Christmas, and in exchange for that getting New Year’s Eve off. The preparations for a glamorous holiday dinner were hence underway.

Mrs. Hughes was actually very keen on this year’s Christmas with all the children around. Miss Sybil and now also Master George were receiving an education at girls’ and boys’ boarding schools, ever since the academic year had begun after summer, and so the house had turned much quieter in an unpleasant way. But Mr. Branson had announced that they would be coming home over the holiday season. Mrs. Hughes was looking forward to some high-pitched laughter and good-natured fighting in the library once more. It made the day so much more entertaining.

Someone who was outright excited for this aspect of Christmas, was Mr. Barrow. He would never admit it, but his loyalty to Master George had torn him apart when the boy had left for school. They sometimes exchanged letters, but obviously a six year old boy was not capable of upholding a full on correspondence, especially with so many playmates there. Mr. Barrow had missed him terribly for the lack of contact, and barely had been able to contain his glee when the news had gotten around. So, even though work was accompanied with the pressure of serving a grand dinner on Christmas Day, the spirits downstairs, as much as upstairs equally, were high. With that motivation carrying everyone through the busy arrangements, the days passed by in lightning speed, and suddenly His Lord- and Ladyship, Lady Grantham, were on their way to the station to pick up the youngsters. 

Downton Abbey had undergone its annual transformation in to a winter palace. Well, at least on the inside. It was awfully cold outside, but apart from ice covered puddles and a bit of frost on the grass, no beautiful tons of snow were engulfing the premises. The only ones happy about that were probably the gardeners, who thanked God for not having to spend all their waking hours clearing the road and paths. Although Mrs. Hughes was not ungrateful either for being able to walk back and forth between her cottage and the main house without arriving soaked through. Yet, a part of the magic was missing.

It did not matter as much though, when Mrs. Hughes walked in to the sparkling hall and just in time witnessed the door being opened, two miniature bodies pushing past it in to the warm Abbey. Mrs. Hughes smiled at their red and runny noses.

“Welcome back Miss Sybil and Master George!” Her greetings were drowned out by excited cries, and in a split second, both children were hugging her legs. Mrs. Hughes was a bit overwhelmed by the welcome, placing each of her two hands on one of the minors’ heads. Through the door walked the Earl and Her Ladyship, Mr. Molesley following them with the offspring’s wee travel bags.

All those present were beaming at the sight of it all. The hall had been beautifully decorated, fires crackling throughout the house and warming up the interior and, if one concentrated well enough, the scent of a sweet treat being baked in the kitchen downstairs could be smelt. The atmosphere was fairly festive. Mrs. Hughes was quite chuffed about the good work the staff had done.

“Ah, Mrs. Hughes”, His Lordship began, “Do you perhaps know where Mr. Barrow is? I ought to discuss the schedule of tomorrow with him.”

“I’m afraid Mr. Barrow was busy in his office a minute ago, but I could go and-“

In that moment Mr. Barrow crossed the threshold of the door separating life from above and below the ground.

“Excuse my absence Your Lordship, I’m right here at Your service.”

“THOMAS!”

A bellowing yell came from Master George, his eyes expanding to the size of plates. He let go of Mrs. Hughes in an instant, leaping towards the butler, who was now crouching down, arms opening for the little boy to jump in to. Master George flung himself at Mr. Barrow, clinging on to his upper body like a monkey on to its mother. Mr. Barrow wrapped his arms around him, standing back up and in the process lifting the wee lad up, spinning them both round on the spot. Mrs Hughes and everyone else could see the huge, toothy smiles on their faces, the butler’s eyes crinkling and Master George’s tightly shut in relish. Two friendly souls, finally reunited. It was the most heart-warming scene Mrs. Hughes had been witness to in a while.

“Oh I’ve missed ya, Master George.” Mr. Barrow gave him a last tight squeeze before placing him on the floor again and extracting himself from the boy’s embrace. He put a firm hand on Master George’s tiny shoulder and looked at him with such pride, as if he had been his own son. “I’ve missed you too, Mr. Barrow”, the boy replied and sheepishly teetered on the balls of his feet.

“I heard you’re doing well in school.” At that, Master George’s face lit up even brighter and he grabbed the older man’s hand to pull and lead him away in to the library. “School is such fun Mr. Barrow, you would love it there, me and my friends play pranks and football and…”

The two disappeared in to the adjacent study. The remaining adults in the hall looked at each other, visibly touched at what had just occurred.

“My, I wish I had gotten such a memorable welcome”, Lord Grantham sighed with pretence jealousy. Miss Sybil understood it as a cue to beckon him to lean downwards. When he obeyed, she planted a sweet kiss on his cheek. The Earl could not hide his smile at the little gesture, very reminiscent of his departed darling daughter. He took the girl’s hand and followed the boys in to the library, Mrs. Hughes and Lady Grantham trailing along behind them, exchanging knowing, contented glances. Christmas had truly arrived after all.

…..

With an ungraceful thump, Mrs. Hughes plopped down on to one of the chairs in the servants’ hall. Her feet were sore, her eyes itchy and her armpits smelly, but she could not have been happier – the Christmas Dinner had been one of a kind. The Upstairs family had enjoyed themselves immensely, food and service having defied their highest expectations, and the ambience had been good-natured as well, apart from a minor incident between the Dowager Countess and Lady Merton. But the quarrel had been resolved by Lady Edith, who had simply asked her grandmother about her opinion on her new wristwatch, which had sent the old Lady Grantham on a rant about inappropriate post-war, female fashion. It had done the trick.

Master George had accidentally spilled hot chocolate over his evening outfit, which had gotten him a row from his mother, but Ms. Baxter had quickly provided a clean replacement and things had moved on smoothly from there. It had helped that Mr. Barrow distracted the little boy, before he could burst in to tears, with a present he had bought him – a model airplane from the RAF. The lad had been in absolute awe and proceeded to play with it all evening long, running from room to room, imitating an engine with his mouth. Mr. Barrow had worn his heart on his sleeve, a ravished look on his face when he saw the enthusiastic reaction of the boy. The view had been very cute, to say the least.

Even with the night having gone so well, Mrs. Hughes was now glad it was done and over with, as she slipped her heels out of the back ends of her shoes. Among her at the long table were quite a few other servants, enjoying the rest of the evening after a hard day of work. They were feeding off the left-overs from dinner, like the Christmas pudding, and tried some sips of the eggnog, which, indicated by their contorted grimaces, they found revolting. Ms. Baxter and herself exchanged amused glances over it, drinking some nice tea.

Footmen and butler were still upstairs, cleaning up the dining room and the Bateses carried out their duties as valet and lady’s maid. Poor things, it would still be a while until they would be able to join the others in the freedom called closing time.

Mindlessly chatting away, still riding out the high of the excitement of the festive day, Mrs. Hughes was interrupted in her anecdote about a Christmas long ago when the tinny ring of the telephone penetrated through the hall from where it was sitting on Mr. Barrow’s desk.

“Oh, I better get that”, the housekeeper excused herself, standing up by heavily supporting her weight on the table top and wobbling, with her half-on-half-off slippers, towards the noise. She arrived after a few rings, sluggishly picking up the instrument.

“Merry Christmas, this is Mrs. Hughes, Housekeeper of Downton Abbey, how can I help you?”

A familiar voice answered, a smile apparent in their intonation.

“Merry Christmas to you too, Mrs. Hughes. Mr. Ellis speaking here. Is it possible that I reach Mr. Barrow?”

“Ah, what a lovely thing of you to call. I’m afraid Mr. Barrow is still busy this late, but if you’d like, I could forward a message?”

“That would be very kind. Just tell him a Happy Christmas and he can call back any time tonight, I’ll be in. But only if he wants to. He can also write a letter, if he’s too busy. Or not reply at all. No pressure involved.” A second of silence. “Scratch the last part.”

Mrs. Hughes chuckled at the normally so eloquent man at the other end of the line. “I’m happy to play the messenger. Good night, Mr. Ellis.”

“Thank you and good night.”

The call ended and Mrs. Hughes removed the earpiece from the side of her head, smiled at it and then hung it back on to the rack. The power of blossoming love. It made a fool out of all of them.

She wrote down a small note of ‘Please get back to Mr. Ellis before he faints with impatience’ and laid it before the butler’s chair, so he would not miss it. The housekeeper then made her way back to the hall, where the table had just exploded with laughter. Even though she had no idea what they were laughing about, she could not stop herself from joining in. Oh, how she loved the Holidays.

…..

Naturally, now that Christmas was over, the snow was unstoppable, falling from above in thick chunks similar to cotton balls. The blizzard caused profound mayhem on the roads, all sorts of traffic delayed or fully halted. The icy winds whipped against the exterior of Downton Abbey with the wrath of the Gods, and made anyone looking out through the big windows from the inside grateful for the opulent roof sheltering them.

Mrs. Hughes was sitting in her heated office, finishing up on some paper work, when someone knocked on her pantry door. Without averting her eyes she called for the visitor to step in.

Mr. Barrow entered. She recognised the sound of his leather sole steps and thus lifted her head to assess what it was he had come after.

“ ’ello Mrs. Hughes. A word?” His tone was a bit timid.

Intriguing. She motioned for him to approach further. He was obedient, fully entering the room now and closing the door after him. Mrs. Hughes straightened her spine in her chair and felt her vertebrae pop back in to place. She had to be careful, otherwise she would end up with a hunch when she was old and wrinkly. Well, older and wrinklier.

She placed her pen next to the booklet she had been jotting down appointments in to. Everyone living upstairs had complained over the past few days that between Christmas Day and New Year’s Eve no-one knew, which day, date and time it ever was. A bubble of not knowing, where they were currently stuck in space and time. Mrs. Hughes could only grimly laugh at that. With a calendar lying open on her desk 365 days a year, it was hard to lose track of time. But then again, she did not enjoy the privilege of not knowing what a weekend was either.

Mr. Barrow crossed the room in a few strides and sat down in the guest seat in front of the housekeeper’s desk. He was nervously fumbling with something in his left trouser pocket.

“I was just wondering”, he began, glancing back at the door, “If it would be alright for Mr. Ellis to join our New Year’s Eve celebration. He was intending to visit anyway and I asked him if he wanted to stay for the feast.”

Mrs. Hughes was slightly surprised at the question. “I don’t know if you’ve forgotten Mr. Barrow, but you are the butler in this house and therefore in charge of anything that happens in the servants’ housing. If you wish to invite Mr. Ellis, then you’re fully entitled to make that decision.”

Mr. Barrow dodged her attempt at eye contact. “I’m aware of that.” He used his free hand to comb through his tightly gelled hair. “But, I thought maybe you had better judgement of whether it would be… a step too far. Inviting a stranger to a work event.”

Mrs. Hughes spluttered at that with a dismissive hand. “All the staff adore Mr. Ellis and I’m sure Mrs. Patmore won’t mind feeding one more hungry mouth.” She took hold of her pen again, the subject decided on her part. “Confirm the invitation to him straight away.”

“Alright, I will. See you around.” The butler stood and left the room, shooting her an appreciative smile before exiting.

Mrs. Hughes leaned back in her chair. This could be quite an interesting development. New Year’s Eve, a party and the Downton staff with an outsider. What could possibly go wrong?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Sigh*, I'm ready for Christmas too.


	8. New Year’s Eve

On the 31st of December, Mrs. Hughes woke up after the sun had risen, which was one of the perks of having a day off. The slanting rays of a winter sun tickled her awake, as they fell in through the Carsons’ bedroom window. She smiled at the feeling, stretching out her limbs on the mattress, in the process prodding her asleep husband who ‘hmpfed’ at the contact, stealing the covers. Mrs. Hughes sneered at that, rolling herself out of bed and in to the day. She got ready, taking all the time in the world. But while she was washing her face, her mind independently wandered back to the main house and she suddenly remembered that she had forgotten to inspect one of the deliveries made yesterday. With an annoyed groan, she stuck her head in to the bedroom door announcing her departure, and then put on her warmest coat, hat and gloves to protect herself from the low temperatures. Sliding on the icy path leading up to the Abbey, snow piled left and right, Mrs. Hughes’ stomach decided to wish her a mocking good morning and growled loudly. At least she knew, Mrs. Patmore would make sure that the housekeeper would not starve on her day off.

Arriving at the backdoor, Mrs. Hughes stomped her feet to get rid of the snow sticking to her boots and entered in to the hall, a surge of warmth and the smell of tea and crumpets hitting her senses. The glorious combination lifted Mrs. Hughes’ mood instantaneously, her steps now a bit more upbeat than before, as she made her way in to the servants’ hall. When she gained a view in to the room by rounding the corner, she could see Mr. Barrow and Ellis sitting at the table, the former reading this morning’s newspaper, the latter munching on baked goods with jam, two steaming cups of tea set in front of them. Mr. Ellis must have come in on the first London-Downton-train early this morning. They both looked at peace with the universe, enjoying each other’s presence in a comfortable silence. A fire was crackling in the small fireplace, spreading light and heat. Their contented faces turned towards Mrs. Hughes as she entered. She gave them a big, warm smile.

“Good morning boys.”

“Good morning Mrs. Hughes”, the men answered jubilantly in unison.

Mr. Ellis moved and fetched a cup for the housekeeper before she had the chance to do so herself. He placed it next to her preferred sitting spot and reached for the tea pot to pour her a cuppa. Mrs. Hughes gratefully bowed her head in thanks.

“Thank you Mr. Ellis, you’re too kind.”

“It’s a pleasure Milady.” He gave her one of his charming, flashing smiles and sat back down. The two of them could feel Mr. Barrow rolling his eyes. The butler pretended to be more interested in the double-sided piece of paper and so missed the surreptitious wink Mrs. Hughes exchanged with Mr. Ellis. They both knew the butler too well.

“So”, the Royal valet began, “What’s today’s business? Anything need doing?”

Mrs. Hughes sipped at her tea, but quickly recoiled as she realised it was scorching. “Let me see… Mrs. Patmore and Daisy should be getting the messages by now, getting the groceries for the big meal. I have a little duty to finish and then will start with the decorating, nothing major, just a few mistletoes, that sort of stuff…” She cocked her head to one side, trying to recall if she had forgotten anything.

“Well, I’d love to help if you need a tall someone to hang up things or anything. Just let me know.”

Mr. Barrow lay down his newspaper then and took hold of the handle on his mug. “If she needed anyone _tall_, she’d certainly come to me instead of you.” He smirked at the, very marginally, smaller man.

Mr. Ellis put on a façade of mock offense. “Didn’t think even you would stoop so low.” He pouted like a child. The butler had to smile at the behaviour.

The next second, Mrs. Hughes felt an ankle nudging one of her feet under the table. She loudly cleared her throat at that, speaking loud and clear, “Mr. Barrow, I’m afraid you’re trying to woo the wrong leg.”

At the speed of lightning, the weight was removed, the butler scrambling for some kind of ‘sorry’, while both of Mrs. Hughes’ opposites turned beetroot-red with embarrassment at the mishap. She on the other hand found it incredibly entertaining and only with the biggest self-discipline contained a chuckle. She ended the awkward situation by lifting herself out of her seat and grabbing her cup of tea.

“I’m going to head in to my office to finish work for today, and if you truly don’t mind, Mr. Ellis, and in fact you too Mr. Barrow, I really could use some help later on. If you are up for it?”

“Certainly.” “No problem, Mrs. Hughes.”

“Right then”, Mrs. Hughes exited the servants’ hall, going where she had just announced she would, not overhearing the hand-muffled laughter of two idiots behind her.

…..

People were beginning to pile in to the stuffy servants’ quarters, a glorious smell of festive scran wafting through the rooms. Mrs. Hughes raised her nose in to the air, taking in the scent of pies, meats and pastries, mixing in the air and forming an irresistible cloud of smells. She stepped out of her pantry after checking her hair and followed the odours in to the kitchen. Mrs. Patmore and Daisy were racing around the furnishings, whisking and kneading and stirring different foods at the same time. It looked a little mad.

“Hello ladies, can I be of assistance? You look awfully stressed.”

Daisy did not even acknowledge her existence, but Mrs. Patmore wiped her forehead with the back of her arm and let out a little sigh. “It’d be great if you’d carry some of these things over”, she vaguely gestured towards some plates and cutlery, “and I’d love you, if you could come back in a minute to transport the first course to the table as soon as it’s ready.”

Mrs. Hughes did not ask any questions, aware of her presence merely being tolerated. “Absolutely Mrs. Patmore, happy to help.” She took the tableware in hand, to do as she had been told.

“Thank you Mrs. Hughes.” Mrs. Patmore gave her a worn out, but sincere smile. The poor woman was about to collapse on one of her few days off. Mrs. Hughes felt slightly bad.

The housekeeper walked through to the big table, where the male staff were having a heated discussion on which sporting event of 1927 had been the most memorable one. Even though they could have been speaking Chinese for all Mrs. Hughes knew about sports, she made out how Mr. Molesley was vehemently advocating for some cricket match earlier in the year. “…that throw was just sublimely executed!” The others obviously disagreed, waving his enthusiasm off.

Mrs. Hughes set down the plates, forks and knives on the table top, happy to relieve her arms of the considerable weight. The action did not go unnoticed by Mr. Ellis, who had been true to his word and acted as a helping hand all day long. His suit jacket was still hanging over the back of a chair, the loose sleeves of his white shirt rolled up to his elbows, from his kindness earlier of bringing in mistletoe twigs and bundling them up to hang them all around the room. He had even managed to convince Mr. Barrow to help with it, after silencing his complaints about decorations being “the most superfluous invention in the history of mankind”. The adornments really did make a difference in atmosphere though and Mrs. Hughes was glad they had carried out the idea. Now, Mr. Ellis approached her immediately, grabbing the crockery and placing it around the table, unsolicited.

“No worries, Mrs. Hughes, I’ve got it.”

Mrs. Hughes was very impressed by his good manners. “Why, thanks a lot, you’re a true gentleman.” She gave the watching group of men a venomous look. “It seems as if chivalry hasn’t gone extinct after all.” They all grumbled something akin to an excuse or an apology, Andrew and Mr. Molesley tracking her back in to the kitchen to carry through the freshly prepared first course: bubble and squeak.

From there on, things moved a bit faster and soon the table was ready and set, the food waiting to be devoured. Everyone took a seat, Mr. Ellis further down the table, away from the butler’s and the housekeeper’s chair. But it did not seem to bother him, animatedly continuing his discourse about football with Andrew. Mr. Barrow was a bit more tense about it, his gaze often flickering over to the other man’s position as Mrs. Hughes tried to establish a conversation with him. Them, Anna and Ms. Baxter shortly found themselves talking about New Year’s resolutions.

“All I want to focus on next year is being a good mother. I feel like I’ve already missed quite a bit of Johnny’s childhood with work and all, and I want to make up for it.” Anna smiled a little, sad smile at the others.

“Well, I guess that’s what being a mother in today’s day and age is like”, Mrs. Hughes added. The shift in the concept of the household with women not being home all the time was indeed a new challenge many families had to face in the presence. The housekeeper had heard similar stories from other fresh mothers as well.

“I wouldn’t worry too much”, chimed Ms. Baxter in, as ever the sweet gentle soul in the conversation. “I’m sure you’re a wonderful mother as you are and Johnny will be so happy when he’s older, looking back at the lovely childhood he got to spend at Downton.” She gave Anna a reassuring smile and the mother squeezed the lady’s maid’s hand in response, thankful for the optimism.

But then Anna came up with a proposition of her own. “What about you, Ms. Baxter? I’ve got an idea for a resolution for you and it involves a certain Mr. Molesley.”

Mrs. Hughes, Anna and Mr. Barrow made ‘uuhh’-noises when Ms. Baxter sheepishly turned her head away, attempting to hide a slight blush.

“Come on Ms. Baxter, we’re all rooting for you as a couple”, Mrs. Hughes grinned, swallowing a bit of her sour cider.

Mr. Barrow appended, “He’d be a lucky guy, even though I’d say you could do way better.” That comment led to Anna and Mrs. Hughes scolding him straight away.

“Mr. Barrow, no negative energies tonight, please”, the housekeeper admonished with a pointed stare. The butler smirked quickly, playing it off as a joke with his hands raised, as if he was being held at gun point. They dropped the topic for his, and probably also Ms. Baxter’s sake.

“And you Mrs. Hughes? What’s your new year gonna look like?”, Mr. Barrow enquired. He took a bite off his dish, curious eyes set on her.

She picked up her cutlery again to eat something as well. “I’m too old for resolutions. I’ve had many Hogmanays to use as opportunities and it’s never worked, so I might as well do my best all year round.” The others conceded to that with understanding nods. She was the oldest and therefore allowed to speak the wisest.

Ms. Baxter redirected the attention of the group to the man sitting at the head of the table.

“And what can we expect of you Mr. Barrow? Any wishes or intents you’d like to share?”

The butler shifted in his chair, a thoughtful pout on his lips. “Not really. Nothin’ special anyway. Just being a good worker, hoping for good health, that sort of stuff.” His eyes betrayed him though, as they flickered to the other end of the table, where a particular fellow had most of the attention from all his seat neighbours, making them erupt in laughter.

Mrs. Hughes and the other two women caught the hint and exchanged glances of unspoken comprehension. An illicit romance was probably not well discussed at a public dinner.

…..

All the plates looked as if they had been licked clean, hardly any crumbs or splatters of sauce left. With bellies and hearts full, everybody downstairs was in the best of moods, loud conversation and guffaw filling the basement. Mrs. Hughes felt a bit tipsy at this point, holding a hand over her glass when Mr. Carson tried to refill it with more alcohol. He had joined the staff, saying he could not stand sitting all by himself in the cottage, missing the celebration. Of course, everyone had welcomed him with widely opened arms.

Mrs. Hughes had moved further down the table, now sitting in a circle with Mrs. Patmore, Daisy, Andrew, Mr. Molesley, Ms. Baxter and Mr. Ellis, to whose side Mr. Barrow had sneakily gravitated towards. After Andrew had let the Royal valet in on the estate secret that Mr. Molesley knew everything and nothing about cricket, the talk had developed in to a competition of hidden talents. So far, they had learnt that Mrs. Patmore had mastered ventriloquism in her early years and that Andrew was able to catch raisins with his mouth from a far distance. That fact revealed had led to him having to prove his gift in numerous tests, which had been very entertaining for the observers. He had indeed proven himself.

“So, Mr. Ellis”, Daisy asked nosily, “Anything we ought to know about you?”

“Um..” The man turned flustered. “Nothing as spectacular as Andrew’s circus show.”

Andrew flexed his bicep muscle at that, Mr. Molesley giving a small applause.

Mr. Ellis fiddled with the stem of his glass. “But I can play the piano.”

“Ohh, how lovely”, Mrs. Patmore cooed, “How come?”

All of the group’s ears were listening attentively.

“Me mum taught me as a child”, the man smiled nostalgically. “Used to play all the time back then, but never found the time since I joined Buckingham Palace.”

“Well, I’m sure you didn’t forget”, Mrs. Hughes smiled encouragingly, the intent in her voice very clear.

“Oh please, will you give us a sample Mr. Ellis!” Daisy immediately begged, pleading at him with puppy eyes. Everyone else added their affirmation, genuinely interested in what the valet could do.

“I don’t know”, an embarrassed Mr. Ellis avoided the request, “My fingers must be old and rusty at this point.”

“Come on, you can’t just tease and then not deliver.” Mr. Barrow rested his hand on the back of Mr. Ellis’ chair, giving him a tiny wink that would have gone missed by anyone other than Mrs. Hughes. The motion was enough to persuade the guest in the house. With cheers, he reluctantly got up to sit in front of the piano in the servants’ hall.

He cracked his knuckles, made a face to signalise that he was trying to come up with a song he could play at the top of his head, and after a while placed his fingers on the white keys. He threw a final glance over his shoulder, looking for some more encouragement, which he got in the form of drumming hands on the table top, and then concentrated on the instrument.

The valet’s fingertips rapidly moved up and down the scales, which translated in to the sound of an opening ragtime riff. The upbeat melody then settled in to a catchy tune and rhythm, livening up the vibe in the room even more. Whatever the man had said a minute ago, his skills were definitely not rusty. In fact, Mrs. Hughes was very sure that she had heard the song on the radio very recently, which meant he had not given up on practising altogether.

Her theory turned out correct when Daisy shrieked excitedly, exclaiming, “I love this song!”

She grabbed an unfortunate Andrew and pulled him to a human free spot, initiating a spontaneous dancing session. Mr. Molesley followed suit, offering his hand to one Ms. Baxter, who beamed up at him, gladly taking it. The ones still sitting bobbed their heads and tapped their feet to the beat.

Yet, everyone was caught by surprise when Mr. Ellis finished the introduction bars of the song and began to sing the first lyrics of the verse.

“_Some of these days…_”

Mrs. Hughes and Mrs. Patmore looked at each other with widely opened eyes. His voice was not smooth as silk, but it really could carry a tune, singing the words with enticement and confidence. The elder women were very impressed. Not every day that you would meet a man with such talent.

“_You’ll miss me honey, when I’m far away…_”

Almost more magnificent was Mr. Barrow’s face though, staring at the back of Mr. Ellis’ head. The butler’s jaw had fallen open, his eye brows plastered to the top of his forehead, a regard of complete astonishment softening his sharp features. Judging by the adoration in his eyes, he had probably forgotten he was in a room with more than a dozen other people, most of whom were all snapping, dancing or singing along by now. Obviously, there were still things Mr. Barrow could learn about the Royal valet.

“_Some of these days…_”

The whole piece was a pure joy to listen to and when Mr. Ellis tickled the last note out of the ivory, he received boisterous applause by dancers and listeners alike. He turned back towards the crowd, quite rosy in the face, gave a sheepish wee bow and quickly retired to his previously claimed seat. All of the people sitting at the table gave him their compliments, but he waved them all off in modesty.

The attention span of people being generally very short, everybody quickly went back to private conversation. Mrs. Hughes was half-heartedly listening to Daisy’s concerns about Mr. Mason’s health, secretly peeking over to where Mr. Barrow and Mr. Ellis were seated side by side. The butler had not recovered from the performance, still looking at the valet in shock. Mr. Ellis grinned at the sight, taking a sip of his cider, quite obviously enjoying his effect on the other man. When Mr. Barrow slowly regained control over his senses, he gave the performer’s shoulder a squeeze with the hand that was still propped up on the backrest of the other man’s chair, and then turned back towards the rest of the group, feigning interest in the conversations.

Mr. Ellis did not stop smiling.

…..

“Five..…four…..THREE…..TWO…..ONE…..”

Far away, the church bells rang twelve times.

Happy New Year.

Everyone present raised their glasses to toast the beginning of the new year. It was another leap farther in time – times of change, of uncertainty, of good and bad happenings. Yet, Mrs. Hughes felt a sense of favourable anticipation. She had an inkling that 1928 would have a lot in store for the Downton household.

Next, the old house tradition of their own out of tune rendition of Auld Lang Syne followed. Mrs. Hughes could hear a tiny sob escaping her husbands mouth. When she turned to him, she could see his shiny eyes, biting back tears of emotion at the wistful melody. Charles missed working at the house terribly, and even though he still technically lived on the same land, not being needed in the house was hard for him to accept. The pause of his retirement during the Royal visit had not helped per se.

Mrs. Hughes grabbed his hand and gave him a gentle peck on the cheek to reassure him of her love. The ex-butler wiped at his eyes and patted her hand, very grateful for the sympathy.

There were cheers at the end of the song and somebody turned on the radio again, dancing ensuing shortly after. The night had been absolutely lovely so far and the housekeeper felt as if she was going to burst with fulfilment. She had no idea how things could possibly get any better than this, until suddenly the Crawley family stood in the doorway, waving with their own glasses, wishing the staff a Very Happy New Year. The servants reciprocated the greetings, pulling the family members in to the crowd to join in on the fun. Soon, Lady Mary and Mr. Talbot, Lady Edith and the Marquess of Hexam and the Earl and Lady Grantham were moving to the music. Mr. Branson also convinced his new partner Ms. Smith, whom he had invited to the celebration, and they swayed to the radio with big smiles on their faces. The Dowager and Lady Merton stood a bit further off to the side, bickering about some topic. The children scurried in between the adults’ legs, Master George making a beeline for Mr. Barrow, who stood in the back corner with Mr. Ellis, watching the hustle and bustle.

Mrs. Hughes experienced the view like a scene in a silent movie. As soon as the butler recognised the small boy, he handed the man beside him his cider glass to pick the rascal up. The youngster held on to Mr. Barrow’s neck, the older man settling him in on his hip. Mr. Ellis stooped down a bit to be eye to eye with the boy and held out his hand to introduce himself. Master George shook it, coyly smiling at the stranger. The three of them, after exchanging a few words, turned back to the crowd and observed the spectacle from afar. The way they stood there, Master George in Mr. Barrow’s arms and Mr. Ellis close by his side, made them almost look like a happy, little family.

Never did Mrs. Hughes feel so at war with the religious and societal indoctrination she had received all her life, as in that moment. Because, when being frank with herself, not one bit of the picture appeared wrong, or unnatural or disgusting. It just looked – normal. Loving and sweet and peaceful. How that could be against God, Mrs. Hughes could not fathom.

It was not against her God, anyway.

A person cleared their throat behind her and when she turned to see who had demanded her attention, Charles stood there, offering his hand for a dance. Mrs. Hughes beamed at him and led him on to the dancefloor. The following hours were fantastic.

What a way to start the new year.

…..

Mrs. Hughes placed the last gathered glasses on the kitchen counter. It was about six o’clock in the morning and she could barely keep her eyes open. Her feet were sore from all the dancing and a creeping headache announced a hangover for the next day. Great, how much she was looking forward to that.

Most of the people had gone to bed, the Crawleys had retired upstairs a long while ago and the servants had partly still needed to head home, which was why Mrs. Hughes had offered to tidy up a bit before heading out as well. The butler had stayed up too, being the one in charge and not accepting anything less than his high standards in service. Therefore, the poor Mr. Ellis was compelled to stay up with him, pretending it was no big deal, even though he yawned every two minutes. He had taken the first train the day before after all.

Now that the worst mess was cleaned up, Mrs. Hughes wiped her hands on her dress and with quiet steps approached the radio, still alive with a slow, mellow tune soaring through the servants’ quarters. When the housekeeper was close to the doorframe separating the staircase from the servants’ hall, she stopped in her tracks at the sight unfolding in front of her.

Beside the long table in the otherwise empty room stood Mr. Ellis and Mr. Barrow – no, not standing, but swaying closely. Mr. Barrow was resting his right hand on the small of Mr. Ellis’ back, the valet’s left hand looped around the taller man’s shoulder and neck. The other two of their hands lay intertwined in between their chests, Mr. Barrow’s thumb stroking back and forth over the blonde’s wrist. Their foreheads were resting against each other, all four eyes closed, breathing in the other’s scent. They gently shuffled their feet, not quite matching the rhythm of the song. The radio crackled a bit, but the swelling melody never faded. Mrs. Hughes would have bet that the couple was completely unaware of the music, far away in their own world of salvation, but she was corrected when Mr. Ellis softly started singing along.

“_Once more we meet,_

_You look so sweet,_

_Dear, can't you see how I feel?_

_I Love you still,_

_I Always will,_

_Y_ _ou have the same old appeal.”_

His rich and slightly hoarse voice was full of something unmistakable and Mrs. Hughes wondered if Mr. Barrow could hear it too. It was a declaration; a promise of the highest sort.

“_Though we're apart,_

_You're part of my heart,_

_Tonight you belong to me.”_

It was the harmony of love.

Seeing the smile Thomas had on his lips right in that moment made Mrs. Hughes feel utter bliss rising from the pit of her stomach, all the way up to her throat. She had to swallow the lump down in order to not shed tears then and there, already feeling a prickle behind her eyes. The happiness she felt for the man was beyond describable.

That was all Mr. Barrow had needed all his life.

Someone to hold him.

With a final look, Mrs. Hughes turned away and left as silently as she could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I needed some fluff and so I wrote it.  
The song Richard plays on the piano is "Some of these days" by Sophie Tucker, first released in 1911, but often remade, which explains why Mrs. Hughes recognises the song. I got the idea from this clip: https://youtu.be/KZx93WPE-Is  
The piano arrangement is based on this though: https://youtu.be/l3SylpBSdmI  
The song of the dancing scene is the title of the story, I shared the link to it in the notes of the first chapter.


	9. January

Stomping through hard snow, Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Barrow were both carrying bags of purchases from the little shops in the village. The housekeeper had needed a hand on her shopping spree for the Crawley family and Mr. Barrow had volunteered to help her out, since things at the Abbey were calm. They were walking side-by-side in silence, braving the elements of winter, cold winds blowing in to their faces and numbing various body parts. How was it possible that in December this sort of weather was considered magical, and during the first month of the year it was the biggest cause of Mrs. Hughes’ personal depression? The answer was beyond her ken.

She was not the only one, who was in a bad mood. The butler had been subdued, ever since shortly after New Year’s Eve, when he had once again received a letter from London. In it, Mr. Ellis had explained that he was going to be on a Royal tour in Wales with the King and thereby inaccessible by post, due to the cavalry changing whereabouts almost daily. The news would probably have been no big deal, travelling being a main part of the Royal valet’s job and Mr. Barrow was aware of that, but Mr. Ellis had not been able to foresee how long the trip would last and after three weeks without a sign of life, Downton’s butler was turning impatient. Thankfully, he had himself under control sufficiently, as to not lash out at anybody, but the entire household could feel his agitation, which did not improve the general atmosphere.

As a matter of fact, the whole nation was blue, the year having kicked off with a fatal flood of the Thames in London, killing 14 innocent people and severely damaging the Millbank area in the city centre. The headline had been broadcast on the radio and all of the staff had sat around the machine in silence, mourning the strangers affected by the catastrophe. The high from the festive days had surely faded quickly after that.

Yet, things were not too bad, a happy incident being that Mr. Branson had received a letter from the all girls’ boarding school, commemorating little Sybbie on the marvellous job she was doing in school. The father had teared up a little while reading the note, beyond proud of his darling daughter. Everyone had felt quite honoured, having such a bright child in the house, really. Hence, Mrs. Hughes had decided to send the girl, and after some thinking also Master George, a little parcel filled with goodies to remind them of their supporting team at home. That was the reason she had gone in to the village in the first place, to buy two postcards and also to get Mr. Barrow out of his hole that was his office and in to the open world. It had worked – the man would do anything to please Master George.

As they were walking up the road towards the Abbey, their breath visible in front of them in little puffs, Mrs. Hughes decided to approach the taboo subject.

“Cheer up Mr. Barrow. He’ll get in touch soon enough.”

When he looked at her, she flashed him an encouraging smile. He reciprocated the gesture sadly, focusing back on to the path. Mrs. Hughes was very fond of the relationship the two of them had established over the course of the past few months. The old, mutual respect the leaders of the Downton staff shared, had turned in to a deep trust both of them could rely on. Mr. Barrow could always be sure to find a listening ear in Mrs. Hughes, and the housekeeper had a reliable colleague, who gladly helped to tackle professional and private issues. As a team, they had really welded together and functioned as a well-oiled, intricate machine. It was a treasured bond, and Mrs. Hughes was certain that the feeling was not one sided.

They continued their way without further disruption, other than their chattering teeth.

…..

“What the heck are you doing?”

Mrs. Patmore moved around the kitchen counter to snatch away the bowl and whisk the butler had been holding a second ago. He lifted up his hands in resignation, his countenance clearly questioning, what it had been this time, he had done wrong.

Mrs. Hughes had thought it a great idea to add some freshly baked biscuits – ginger snaps, to be precise – in to the gift package they would be sending the Crawley children. She had filled in Mrs. Patmore on the idea, and the short woman had been raptured, immediately running to the kitchen pantry to collect the necessary ingredients. Mr. Barrow, who had had nothing to do at that point, had poked in his nose and enquired, what the women were up to. Before he could have said ‘baking’, Mrs. Hughes had forced a linen apron over his head and Mrs. Patmore had stuck a sift in to his hand. No getting out of it for him.

“Mrs. Patmore, I honestly don’t know, how I could have whisked incorrectly.” The butler wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, obviously quite stressed out by the unfamiliar task. He had previously received admonishment twice, once for adding in all of the flour at the same time, and the other time for almost mistaking salt for sugar.

Mrs. Patmore rolled her eyes, “Gosh, you’re like Daisy in her early days. You already pinpointed the mistake. You were supposed to _beat _the egg, not _whisk _it.”

The cook executed the step herself, forming a creamy mass that, with another few ounces of flour, turned in to a rich, dark brown dough. Mr. Barrow, quite literally, threw the kitchen towel in defeat. Mrs. Hughes felt the need to intervene.

“Come, come, Mr. Barrow, we can roll out the dough balls together.” She ripped off a piece of the sticky substance and pushed it in to his palm. Sulking, he took it and proceeded to do as he had been instructed to.

While Mrs. Patmore was quacking away about why following the recipe was essential to actually get what one wanted in the end, the metallic ring of the telephone reverberated through the hall out of the butler’s office. The man in the room dropped his more sausage than circular shaped biscuits and hurried to pick up the receiver.

For a while, Mrs. Hughes and Patmore could only hear a muffled discussion from the butler with whoever was calling until he suddenly shouted, “Leave me alone then!” The ladies heard the telephone being slammed down on the desk. Next, the door was shut with a bang.

Nothing.

Cook and housekeeper exchanged a worried look.

Mrs. Hughes stepped next to the sink to rinse her hands, drying them on the kitchen towel Mr. Barrow had used beforehand. Purposefully, she marched up to the closed door and softly knocked. No response. She repeated the motion and then let herself in without an invitation, closing the wooden door behind her gingerly.

Thomas was sitting in his chair, shoulders slumped, big hands covering his face, but snivelling sounds escaping them anyhow – he was crying.

A switch in her brain automatically flipped in to mother-mode, and so Mrs. Hughes decisively crossed the room, swerved around the desk and partly sat down on the armrest of the butler’s seat with one leg. Gently, she embraced him in her arms, the wrecked man instantaneously leaning in to the hug. Mrs. Hughes rested her chin on the black thickness that was his hair and shushed and rocked both of them, just as her mother had done, whenever she had hurt herself playing outside as a child.

They stayed in the position for a while, Mr. Barrow’s sobs gradually ebbing away until they were only dry hiccoughs. Eventually, he lifted his head from Mrs. Hughes’ bosom, sniffling a bit and wiping at his eyes to get rid of the evidence of his breakdown. Straightening in his chair, Mrs. Hughes believed her role as a source of consolation fulfilled and stood up to move to the proper seat meant for guests. She moved the piece of furniture closer to the table, wanting to avoid having to speak loudly in case somebody passed the office outside.

“Now that we’re a bit stable again, will you tell me what’s happened?” She watched him with a tender gaze.

“I’m sorry for that.” His voice sounded raw. “Won’t happen again.”

“Oh stop it, I think we’re passed that stage now. It’s happened before and it’ll happen again. So, will you tell me, what made you soak the front of my dress?”

Mr. Barrow was unable to respond to the humour. Instead, he chewed on his lower lip.

“That on the phone was Richard.”

Mrs. Hughes questioningly inclined her head to one side. “And?”

The butler appeared to be swallowing down bile rising in his throat. When he had composed himself, he answered miserably, “They found our letters.”

Not quite understanding, Mrs. Hughes took one of his hands over the table top and asked him to elaborate.

“The letters Richard and I’ve been exchanging”, Mr. Barrow amended, “We never wrote down our first names, so at least part of our identity was obscured. But one of the Royal footmen, who was also at Downton last year, shared a room at one of the stops of the tour with him and found them. He remembered who the name Barrow belongs to.” The man’s eyes welled up again. “The bastard is blackmailing Richard, saying he’s supposed to end the correspondence or otherwise he’ll report him.” A single tear dropped down his cheek, quickly removed with a swift motion of his hand.

Mrs. Hughes stroked her thumb back and forth over Mr. Barrow’s palm. A pathetic attempt to comfort the other person and maybe also herself.

“How explicit are the contents of those letters?”

“They’re not….really. It’s…. They’re just friendly. But signed very affectionately.” It was as if all the air had disappeared from the butler’s body. He seemed smaller and feeble.

The housekeeper nodded in understanding. “And why were you then shouting at Mr. Ellis when he’s the innocent party in all of this?”

Mr. Barrow shot her a heartbroken, poisonous, scolding look. He suddenly looked like the snake-like character he had been before the war. His voice broke a bit on his next words.

“Well, what do you think he decided on. Can’t risk losing everything in his life, jus’ because of some idiot like me.”

The insides of Mrs. Hughes body contracted, making her feel a bit nauseous with grief, as she witnessed how the normally so intact man crumbled once more. She reached for his other hand as well.

“Mr. Barrow, I promise it will be fine.”

“How can you say that”, the butler cried, “All my life, the bits that made it worth living were taken away from me. This is just another one. Bound to happen.”

“Don’t worry dear”, was all Mrs. Hughes could think of in that moment, “I’ll think of something.”

“I’m just so tired of rejection, Mrs. Hughes. I can’t stand it anymore. So tired.”

The ticking of the clock on the desk reminded them of time passing by, while they sat together in the barely lit office.

…..

It was the end of January, yet Mrs. Hughes felt as drained as if the year had already passed by. She had gotten in to a fight with Anna, who had asked for a day off on a date the housekeeper was incapable of granting, due to work piling up everywhere with the festivities being over. Anna had not taken the news well, since she would have gone on a short family trip with child and Mr. Bates, who had been able to get time off work. Ever since then, there was tension between lady’s maid and housekeeper, which just made day-to-day business less enjoyable and Mrs. Hughes was really hoping to resolve the conflict sooner rather than later. She was mostly a peaceful creature, uncomfortable with dissonance.

Additionally, she was full with worry for the butler, who had not recovered from the incident from a couple of days ago. Mrs. Hughes had lived long enough to experience lovelorn and it had been hard, but she had overcome it. Mr. Barrow though was not even trying to overcome. He did not speak unless addressed, he did not eat unless force-fed, and did not seem to sleep at all, always up when Mrs. Hughes left at night and always awake when she returned in the morning. She had tried to approach him to enquire if he needed anything at all she could provide him with, but he had rebuilt his old defences, shrugging off any affections or spitting nasty comments to intimidate anyone who dared to step too close. They must have travelled back in time.

One afternoon, Mrs. Hughes sat in her pantry, concentrating on the cash journal listing all the expenses of the downstairs household, when she heard a quiet knock on the door. “Come in”, she sighed, glad that someone was distracting her from the dreary business of money. Timidly, Ms. Baxter stepped in to her office, closing the door behind her and giving her a tiny smile when she sat down on the other side of the desk.

She noticed the open book in front of the housekeeper. “I’m really sorry to intrude.”

Mrs. Hughes demonstratively closed the journal. “You’re not, I’m too happy that I don’t have to keep reading small, blurring numbers.” She caught the look of concern on the other woman’s face. “Please don’t tell me there are any bad news, I don’t think I have the energy for more.”

The lady’s maid hesitantly shook her head. “Nothing acute. At least I think so.” She scratched at her temple. “I was just wondering, if something’s wrong with Mr. Barrow? He’s acting so different and I can’t help but worry, ever since –“

She broke off, not having to finish the sentence, because Mrs. Hughes knew exactly what she was referring to. The older woman opened one of the cupboards underneath her desk, pulling out a little jar with colourful sweets. She took off the lid, chose a red one for herself and then offered the container to her vis-à-vis.

“In times of sorrow, I like to rely on sugar.”

Ms. Baxter picked a green treat.

“That sounds fairly serious”, she answered without putting the sweet in to her mouth. She just rolled it in between her thumb and index finger.

Mrs. Hughes was faster to indulge, relishing the dolce flavour. “I suppose it is.”

She knew, Ms. Baxter could be trusted and so she let her in on the tragedy that was Mr. Ellis’ fate. The lady’s maid listened attentively, not interrupting once.

“…and so, it’s quite a tricky situation really. I mean, personally, I’d love to rip Mr. Ellis’ head off for causing Mr. Barrow such pain, but clearly, if the man wishes not to starve, I can’t hold it against him for acting as he did. He’s a decent man, the last thing I want for him to happen is prison.” Mrs. Hughes twiddled her thumbs. “I suppose not every employer and co-worker is as gracious as us and the Crawleys when it comes to indecency.”

“I can tell you about that”, Ms. Baxter responded wryly, clearly having her own criminal record and history with work difficulties in mind. She now popped the green sugar bomb in to her mouth as well, the story making her crave comfort too.

“Oh my”, she said worriedly, “And there really isn’t any solution in sight?”

Mrs. Hughes defeatedly shook her head. “Even my imagination couldn’t come up with something this time.”

The lady’s maid was unwilling to give up though. “Couldn’t we at the very least distract him somehow? From experience I can say that heartache is best eliminated by friends and time. Maybe, we should give him that?”

“I think you’re very right, but as you may have noticed, it’s quite difficult to even enter the five meter radius around Mr. Barrow without risking losing a finger.”

They sat together in contemplative silence. They heard footsteps approaching and then passing by the door.

Ms. Baxter was the first to find her voice again. “Maybe we could trick him in to a day out? I don’t think he’s been outside for a week. The fresh air could breathe some new life in to him. I know he likes to go to York on his time off, so potentially we could take him to a pub there and enjoy some nice food? It will surely take his mind off of things for a few hours.”

Mrs. Hughes thought about the proposition. “That might not be a bad idea.” She was also aware though that she had just denied Anna time off, and did not see how she was then going to justify free time for herself, a lady’s maid and the butler of the house at the same time. The gears in her brain started to work feverishly. “The scheduling may be a bit difficult, but I’ll see what I can do.”

The women exchanged a hopeful glance at their plan. The prospect of having a solid idea of how to help the poor Mr. Barrow made the predicament less unbearable. Finally something promising to hang on to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi :) I'm so sorry, lol.  
Maybe shouldn't have listened to Red by Taylor Swift so much. Couldn't help it.


	10. February

The white peaks of snow were starting to turn in to icy grey slush that one had to beware of, due to car tyres catapulting the wet dirt right on to eye level. Mrs. Hughes had to literally jump once in order to avoid being hit with a surge of mushy snow. She had glared at the rear of the car, but the driver had not bothered to check if she had been alright. Honestly, sometimes she longed for the times when ubiquitous machines were concepts of the distant future. But as she was finishing the thought, she noticed how old it made her sound and so she just continued to coexist with engines and wheels constituting to public danger.

Something that made Mrs. Hughes smile though, were the little purple tips of crocus blossoms fighting to break through the frozen ground. They were a reminder of winter not being a perpetual state, a symbol of strength, hope and life during the bleakest times of nature. The woman drew new vigour from the little blots of colour in the otherwise carbon-coloured, dull surroundings. If a wee flower was able to recover from the darkness of winter, so was she.

Things in the downstairs department had brightened up, thankfully. Mrs. Hughes had felt so bad for Anna not having a single day off that she had granted her free time right when she had been able to in the first week of February. The mother had been grateful for Mrs. Hughes efforts, knowing how difficult leading a household the size of Downton Abbey was nowadays, with less staff, higher wages and more required holidays for the workers, and so she had quickly forgiven the housekeeper. That was a true burden lifted from Mrs. Hughes’ shoulders, who had really disliked not being able to joke around and gossip with her. Fortunately, the long nights in the livery over tea and yarn and needles were bearable once again.

Sadly, not everybody had made up. Mr. Barrow was still at feud with his counterpart. Well, not really, since letters and therefore contact had stopped. In the beginning, Mrs. Hughes had hoped the distance would do the butler good, not being constantly reminded of what he had lost, or rather what had been taken away from him. But there had been no improvement, he had been distant, cold and all in all Thomas Barrow from 1912. Of course, everyone in the house had noticed his regression in demeanour, especially when the butler had snapped at Lady Merton when she had enquired, what was bugging him. To be fair, his eyes had gone impossibly wide and he had apologised for his misbehaviour right after the incident, but the action had made it clear to the entire inner life of Downton that Mr. Barrow was quite simply not alright.

Mrs. Hughes had, whenever her brain was not stuffed with work, thought about Ms. Baxter’s notion of a day out with the butler. It would be difficult to get him to leave his office, voluntarily or by force, which meant, she had to come up with a diversion to lure him out. She raised the subject to Ms. Baxter after dinner one night and the lady’s maid came up with a brilliant plan.

“Why don’t we convince him that there is a brand new sort of wine vendor in York, whose produce the Earl would love, and the only way to get a bottle is to actually go there, since he doesn’t deliver outside the city?”

It seemed plausible enough to Mrs. Hughes and so she fed the man the story. The butler was very sceptical, arguing whether she was questioning his taste, because she was proposing another wine that he had not chosen. The housekeeper had to be careful as not to insult the crank, insuring him it was just ‘to try something new’ and herself and Ms. Baxter would even accompany him, so he did not have to be friendly or talk if he did not want to. She had persevered until he had given in.

“Fine, but I need to be back in time for another pantry delivery at five o’clock.”

“Very well, we’ll do it in the morning then.” Mrs. Hughes had swiftly left the butler’s office, in case he changed his mind, which at this point she simply would not tolerate, the end.

And so one day, the three of them were shivering on platform number two at the train station, waiting for their train to York at nine am.

Mrs. Hughes and Ms. Baxter made small talk along the way, trying to focus on anything else but the biting cold. They were jumping on the concrete, an attempt at reanimating their toes. Only, foreseeably, Mr. Barrow did not join in, absently standing beside them, very still. Ms. Baxter was the first one to get annoyed at the negative attitude when they sat down on the train and he blindly refused to answer a regular question she had asked him.

“For God’s sake, Mr. Barrow, I know things didn’t go as planned, and yes sulking is allowed up to a certain point, but you have got to wake up out of the trance you’re in.”

The housekeeper and butler both made googly eyes at her, never having heard the delicate woman speak with such authority. Mr. Barrow did not reply again, only ashamedly taking off his hat and fiddling with it in his lap. Ms. Baxter lay a hand on his cheek to make him look up at her.

“If not for God’s or yours sake, please do it for mine.”

She sent him a little smile, which he reciprocated to Mrs. Hughes’ astonishment. The man covered the lady’s maid’s hand with his own, giving it a squeeze of thanks, before they both dropped the touch. There just was something about Ms. Baxter, which caused ripples of peace and serenity, wherever she spread her magic. The thought that there really still were some truly good people in the world, warmed Mrs. Hughes from the inside.

…..

“We’re not here to see a wine specialist, are we?”

Mr. Barrow pivoted on the spot and turned towards them. The women looked guiltily at each other and then at the butler, shaking their head in unison. It had taken him exactly thirty seconds in York to work it out, as they stepped out of the central station of the bustling city. The air smelled like burnt coal, urine and bread, the latter scent wafting out of a bakery on the opposite side of the road, in turn making Mrs. Hughes’ stomach grumble. She had only had tea for breakfast.

The man, dressed in his brown long coat, exhaled heavily, watching the traffic pass by. “Will you then tell me, what we’re actually doing?”

Mrs. Hughes’ belly made a strangled noise once more. She suggested, “Why don’t we explain over a hot chocolate and a scone?” The proposition was endorsed unanimously.

A few minutes later, they were squeezed in around a small, three-legged table, cups of dark brown, sugary goodness steaming in front of them and a little bag with warmed up, flaky scones in the middle. It felt like a quaint picnic in the city.

Taking a bite, Mr. Barrow reinforced his question from earlier with a full mouth. “So?”

Mrs. Hughes sighed, giving in. “We thought it might be a good idea to get you out of the house for a bit. You know, breathe in actual oxygen and looking at walls that don’t belong to your office.” She mitigated the statement with a gentle shine in her eyes.

Before Mr. Barrow could build up his defences again and deny any allegations of him being unhappy whatsoever, Ms. Baxter cut him off. “Listen, we’re not trying to make you uncomfortable or force anything, but you see we”, she intensively waved back and forth between Mrs. Hughes and her, “have actually lived through heartbreak too and know what you’re dealing with.”

The butler gloomily looked at her, opening his mouth to probably say something along the lines of ‘no-one knows, what I’m dealing with’, but Ms. Baxter continued unflinchingly.

“And do not berate me Mister on how your life is so difficult and we wouldn’t understand. Yes, we’ve never been in the specific situation you’re in, but we’ve been hurt by loved ones too, and every human’s heart is, all things considered, made out of the same stuff. So please, stop cutting yourself off and let us in. That way we can help. Shared pain is half of the pain.” She made a dramatic pause, staring at him intently. “Do you understand?”

Mr. Barrow looked as if someone had smacked him with a pan. He slowly began to nod, awakening out of his stiffness, and eventually added a hushed ‘thank you’. He took a sip from his warm cup.

“Right”, Mrs. Hughes tried to break up the tension. “I completely agree with Ms. Baxter. Today’s about cheering you up. We want to keep you company. So we can do anything you’d like, anything at all.” She offered him another scone, since he had already finished his first one. He tentatively took it, the gesture in some way symbolising a peace treaty being sealed.

“Alright.” He used the moment to think of something he would enjoy doing. “Can we go in to Rowntree Park and feed the ducks?”

Mrs. Hughes and Ms. Baxter almost howled in relief.

“Absolutely.”

…..

The trio walked for hours on end, at first through the park, then on to the main shopping street and lastly along the river. They talked about everything and nothing, laughing and keeping silent. The views of the city put things in to perspective for the country people, so many people with equal problems and baggage in their life, sharing the same few square miles to ultimately be less lonely with the weight of it all. Even though the melancholy of the concept dulled Mrs. Hughes’ happiness that day, it acted as a beautiful ache, knowing people could reach out and uplift their neighbours. Precisely that, the three had done all morning long – plainly being there for one another.

Having walked off the breakfast they had indulged earlier, the Downton servants started thinking about where to have lunch. Mrs. Hughes was never long enough in York to have a whole meal, so she had no clue, which places would be nice to sit down in. Ms. Baxter appeared to be similarly clueless. Luckily, Mr. Barrow was a bit more informed.

“I know a pub not far from here I’ve been to before. Didn’t have any food there, but the meals I saw looked decent.”

The women quickly agreed, not being able to provide an alternative.

Indeed, the place was fairly close, and as they marched in through the door, the warm air from inside the eatery pleasantly defrosted their flesh and muscles. The pub was quite busy for noon, most of the tables already taken, but nonetheless they found a spot in the back, where they took a seat. A waiter brought the menu, while they were still taking off their layers of clothes, and quickly hurried off to a more impatient table. Mr. Barrow and Mrs. Hughes went for a nice Sunday Roast, even though it was not a Sunday at all, and Ms. Baxter decided to have the Fish and Chips, seeking the cosiness of piping hot oil. They sat there, chitchatting about the upcoming happenings at the Abbey, wonderfully odorous plates of food in front of them, when one of the many men in the house suddenly stopped in front of their table. He was tall, mouse brown hair parting on the left side of his head, a moustache adorning his upper lip. Mrs. Hughes was positively certain, she had never seen the man in her life.

But it also did not seem to be her or Ms. Baxter’s face he recognised.

“Thomas?”

The butler’s facial features went slack in surprise when he looked in to the visitor’s face.

“Mr. Webster.”

“You know each other?”, Ms. Baxter requested, obviously not understanding the meeting either.

The stranger answered distractedly. “Know each other? Oh yeah, a little.”

Mr. Barrow just blinked at that. Mr. Webster kept going.

“I thought I’d never see you again.”

“Me neither.”

The standing man cleared his throat a bit awkwardly. “Good to see you’re well.” One of his mates whistled at him from across the room, wanting the man to return to the group. He did not break eye contact with the butler though.

“Guess I’ve got to go. I’ll see you around?” Mr. Webster raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

“I- maybe”, was all Mr. Barrow was capable of answering.

The mysterious man gave him one last look, before nodding the ladies at the table goodbye and heading over to where someone had called for him from. Mr. Barrow did not deem it necessary to explain what had just happened to his perplexed companions, redirecting his gaze at his plate and not shifting it for the rest of their meal.

What a strange encounter, was Mrs. Hughes’ thought process over her beef and oven baked potatoes.

…..

Housekeeper, lady’s maid and butler were strolling back to the station to get home on time before the delivery man would show up at the Abbey. They had not spoken much, Ms. Baxter and Mrs. Hughes still baffled by the appearance of the so called Mr. Webster, or rather Mr. Barrow’s nonplussed reaction to seeing him. Mrs. Hughes caught herself opening her mouth a few times to approach the subject, but she could not muster up the courage or words to be so direct. After a while, Ms. Baxter assumed the responsibility of it.

“Now, will you tell us who the kind man in the pub was?”

The butler kept on walking, bracing himself for the unavoidable conversation. “He’s a friend. Not even, more of an acquaintance.”

He kicked at some gravel stones on the pavement with the tip of his leather shoe. The women shared a hidden glance behind the man’s back, very doubtful of his proclamation. Mr. Webster had called him by his first name after all. They were wise enough to know that Mr. Barrow would not open up any further and so they harnessed their curiosity in favour of the stronger friendship they had established over the course of the trip.

No use in destroying the hard work straight away.

…..

Some days having passed by, Mrs. Hughes got a letter at breakfast. Nothing out of the ordinary about that. Apart from work related messages, she also sometimes received post from her best friend, who lived in the South-East of England. She had sent her a letter recently and was therefore expecting an answer back. Yet, when she eyed the envelope that Andrew handed her, it was a different kind of déjà vu she experienced. Although there was no return address, she weirdly recognised the fine paper and posh ink from somewhere – she just could not place where. It was most definitely not from Susie.

The letter remained unopened for several hours. The housekeeper did not have the time to attend to it. That did not mean her mind was not in her office, mentally already tearing open the envelope and finally finding out what this whole ordeal was about. She even almost knocked over a vase in the dining hall, too preoccupied to coordinate her hands correctly. She thanked the Lord, when everything on her acute to-do-list was done and she could play hermit in the private space of her office. She shut the door behind her, briefly contemplating, whether she should lock it, but decided against it, in case it would spark unnecessary suspicion among the other staff members. It was just a letter after all. Well, hopefully.

She stood above her desk, shortly inspecting the outside of the envelope once more, but then could not restrain herself any longer and opened the paper pocket. The letter turned out to be a couple of pages, and so she sat down in her chair to read through it.

It began with ‘_Dearest Mrs. Hughes’_.

The handwriting. She had seen it before. Written with the genteel ink that had made her curious once before – last time on the back of an envelope she had found in the bin.

Mrs. Hughes eyes started to dart over the words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I the only one, who doesn't really know how to interpret Mr. Webster's character? HIs screen time was so little that I couldn't really make up my mind about him. Of course, he's not a Richard equivalent though.


	11. 25th of February

_Dearest Mrs. Hughes,_

_I’m not sure, if me approaching you is a step too far, a boundary I ought to not cross. And I have tried to dissuade myself, genuinely. I thought, silence would be the stitches I needed to become one of the living again. But I was mistaken. I am suffocating – and this letter is my last reach for a helping hand._

_I am truly sorry to involve you in my personal troubles and believe me when I say, I am ashamed to do so. I have taught myself over the course of my life to handle matters on my own. I have become a loner, partly thanks to the world, but partly on my own accord. Anyone you would ask in my life would claim the opposite. They see me sitting at dinner tables, in pubs or fancy restaurants, surrounded by a constellation of people, calling themselves my friends. Yet, none of these contacts have ever bothered to find out, whom they are actually talking to. I smile, and answer questions, and tell a joke that will suit the occasion, but that person is a distant relative of the demure boy living underneath the façade. I am not exaggerating when I say that your presence and acceptance brings me more comfort than the attendance of some people I have known for half of my lifetime. Hence, I am writing to you, if not for help, then merely to explain my questionable actions towards your friend_ _ Mr. B._

_I am very certain, he has filled you in on the dilemma I have been faced with. My situation is still tense. That is also the reason why I never sent anything to Mr. B, I wanted to be certain no-one would be able to harm him. I am sending this letter from outside London, to ensure no inspections will be made. Nevertheless, I am fearful of unexpected interrogations and thus did not include my name on the outside of this envelope. I hope the anonymity did not frighten you in to not opening the letter. Otherwise, I would have spent days of inner debate, whether to contact you or not, to no avail. If you do receive this message, I am kindly asking you not to respond in any manner, my colleague still wary of any post I get. I would not want you to get into peril, just because I was unable to keep quiet. It would not be fair._

_Let me begin with a reason for why I decided in January to choose the path of surrender. It was two factors to consider, really. Number one was Mr. B’s security, the most important weight in my ruling. His own negative experiences last year in York played like a movie in front of my eyes again and again, when my colleague threatened me. The most painful thing the Gods could compel me to do, would be to sit back and watch how the arrest was being repeated, but this time thanks to my person. I would not be able to account for that, it would crush my soul and leave my body behind as a hollow shell, waiting for death to finally end its misery. _

_Number two, in honest conceitedness, was my own obvious risk of imprisonment. In any other life, I would not have given a damn about that consequence, but my special position in the Palace would be taken away from me with just the hint of a criminal offense. And a termination from the highest household would be the end of my career in service, possibly of my complete future working life. That is a shame I cannot answer to, if not necessarily for my own’s sake, at least for my parents’. I hope you can sympathise with that._

_Plus, me or Mr. B in prison would be the end of most communication, whatsoever. An acquaintance of mine experienced the horrid scenario, I am trying to avoid, with their partner and seeing their destiny of lives separated by a tall, brick wall and a wire mesh fence, I can attest to the accuracy of this argument. These are not the best of times for men like me and Mr. B, but they are the only times I have ever known. So, it was only a matter of time until I would be held at gunpoint._

_I can either hide or run. Right now, I am unsure which option would harm me and the people dear to me less._

_You see, I have been chased around for as long as I can remember. My parents sent me to a boarding school, due to my immoral inclinations, which I did not attempt to hide during my fist years of innocence. I could not get behind, what I had to hide anyway, not thinking anything wrong with me. It was only later in life that I understood my preferences did not match the ones of the vast majority. Boarding school was a place of enlightenment in that way, which of course only meant further complications in my life. I got expelled shortly before my graduation, after a fellow student reported an attack on him I was the perpetrator of. My mistake was, not denying anything at all, the rebellious heroism of adolescence blurring my perception of rationality. Therefore, I never finished school and threw away the educational qualifications my mother and father had spent decades on saving money for. Shortly after, I was kicked out of home, my father not being able to live under the same roof with his disappointment of a son. A family friend of my mother’s was able to arrange an apprenticeship as a footman though, and that is the reason why today I serve in this industry. Had I been intelligent enough to keep my mouth shut, I would be a teacher now or a businessman, who knows. But this is the way things are now, and I must come to terms with it._

_That is, what I thought at least. I was convinced that I would recover from the blackmail in no time, since it was not the first time I had been confronted with discrimination. To be more precise: Mr. B was not my first scandalous occupation. The others I have had, I quickly got over. They were mostly a satisfaction of the moment, simply to be reminded, I was not alone in this world. And the dangers of those encounters were as calculated as a crime can be. The worst consequence being the notorious banishment from school. I was wiser after that._

_But with Mr. B, it is not as easy. I have not seen him in weeks, and yet his face is the only one I seem to remember. I have not heard from him in weeks, and yet the sound of his voice keeps me awake at night. The mirage of his touch makes me shiver. I inhale and exhale the few memories I have got with him. If I did not know any better, I would commit myself to the Bethlem Royal Hospital. I am a mad person. But unfortunately, the sickness I suffer from is incurable._

_In the beginning I thought, the pain in my chest, due to the lack of contact, would subside. I gave it a day. A week. A month. And I do not think I would survive a year, because the ache in my heart expands with every superfluous beat. Even colleagues, who I would not consider close, have taken notice of my loss of appetite and weight, and the blue in my face. But I cannot help it. Any attempt at sleep or eating makes me dizzy and ill. I do not see the point of it anyway, in a life without Mr. B. _

_He played on my heartstrings and they are strained when he is not around. He was my anchor, far away, but close enough to cling on to in the weltering sea. With him gone, I am floating – no, not floating, drowning. Sinking deeper and further, with nothing to grab on to._

_Perhaps that is why I chose to write to you. You are the only person, apart from m_ _y legal guardians, who knows my full identity, even if not for very long. The relationship I have with my parents has much improved over the years, I visit them regularly now and we get along. But only based on the underlying agreement that I keep out of trouble and blend in with the masses. Never could I reveal my romantic sorrows to them without painful backlash._

_Thus, this letter to you. I just need to share and speak out the truth of my sad fate, before I am crushed with the weight of it. At night, when I stare at the ceiling of my room, I sometimes wish for nothing more than to have never met Mr. B. I know it is unjustified, since he is not responsible for the damage done, but without him I would not have to question my sanity constantly. However, a blink of an eye later, I wish even more so to lie next to him, for him to hold me in his arms and never stop. _

_I honestly do not know how to proceed with my life, everything being so meaningless. There is no light at the end of the tunnel. Not this time._

_I am now continuing this letter after a few days of thought. I apologise for the mushy, dramatic composition, but my words still accurately reflect the storm in my head. I will not get better in the position I am in right now, which is why I have decided to take in hand the reins from now on. I will resign my job as Royal valet. Not right now, but as soon as I can muster up a plan for afterwards. I have never been a royalist anyway, and I believe, if I put my ambition to use, I will be able to create a different life for me. Many servants are switching careers right now, because of the changing times, so why not my humble self? It would not be conspicuous, only part of a social movement. I have learnt valuable skills during my years of service and I will be given a good reference, which I hope will be enough to convince a possible future employer of giving me a chance. _

_I must try it at the very least. The pit I inhabit presently, with my blackmailer breathing down my neck, is more of a death sentence than a worthy existence. The constant vigilance, even more than I am used to in any case, is exhausting my resources of energy. Paradoxically, since I have an infinite flame of desire burning inside me, since I met Mr. B. I will no longer waste my precious time on an environment that is trying to strangle me. I refuse to be bullied any longer._

_Of course I understand that my newly acquired inspiration is not an admission ticket in to Mr. B’s circle of trust. I imagine the hurt I caused him is not equal to the one I have felt, how could it be, but at least bearing resemblance to it and for that, I will apologise to him. Again, not quite yet without a solid protocol of my next actions, but as soon as I can. Based on his reaction, which I think will be resentment, I will do whatever pleases him. If that requires me to extract myself from his life completely, I will respect that. But I need to see him once more, even if it is only to say proper goodbyes._

_And additionally, to say thank you to you in person. Mr. B has forwarded your optimism and encouragement to me every step of the way and I will forever treasure that. Not many people have continued to stick around in the seldom case that they learned about my darkest secrets. I was therefore surprised to learn that people such as you, without prejudice, exist. It gives me hope for the future – one where me, Mr. B and many others are free to be what everyone else already can: closer to the cores of our characters. _

_If under any circumstances you do wish to contact me, even though that is very likely just wishful thinking on my behalf, you can reach me under WEStminster 5829. I do not expect anything, since you barely know me well enough to even care about my wellbeing, but I will say that I cherish your previous openness, kindness and good-heartedness like the one of an old friend._

_Which is why I am signing goodbye with sadness. I hope we meet once again. Take good care._

_Yours, _

_R. E._

_PS: I would prefer Mr. B not learning about this. I do not feel it would be just for him to find out I contacted you before him. I beg you respect the request._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was sponsored by the lovely Billy Joel and his song Summer, Highland Falls.  
Quick explanation: the Bethlem Royal Hospital is the oldest psychiatric hospital in Britain (maybe even the world?), founded in 1247.


	12. March

March was good to the people at Downton Abbey. It thawed the grounds and gradually reawakened animals from hibernation. The flower buds were emerging from the stems, the movements of rejuvenated nature transferring on to the people living there. The noble house was in a lot of movement, due to an exciting dinner coming up. The first proper Winter Olympics had taken place earlier in February and Mr. Branson and Mr. Talbot had been so engrossed with the sporting event that they had begged His Lordship to invite some of the British athletes, who had participated in the sensation. After some discussions, the Earl had consented and the Abbey was now going to host the top ten sportspeople out of the team. Mrs. Hughes had seen one picture of the ski jumping ramp in the newspapers and declared for herself that anyone willing to take part in something as dangerous as speeding down and then jumping off it, must be out of their right mind. But when the lot arrived and introduced themselves to the family, they actually seemed very friendly and ordinary. Although, for Mrs. Hughes’ taste, way too thin for their own good. A nice sandwich would not do them any harm, in her opinion. 

Yet, quickly the reality of having guests caught up with her and she found herself rushing about, changing bed sheets, double counting towels and ordering more food for the pantry, because, oh Lord, these men and women had an untameable appetite. Mrs. Hughes discarded her concern about the athletes’ weight, wondering where the hell all the mashed potatoes went, these people were shovelling in to their mouths. It was truly astounding to a housekeeper, who normally supervised meals for a maximum of five, leaving most of the food on their plates.

Mrs. Hughes sat down with a groan. Her hip had been killing her all day, probably due to her running tirelessly and sleeping in the twisted position of a starfish. Why her body did this to her, she had no idea. Just another reminder that she was growing older each day and there was nothing else to do, but accept it. For someone, who liked fighting back, such as her feisty self, it was a difficult fate to embrace, but one everybody was resigned to. Sighing, she poured a splash of tea in to her empty cup, cupping her hands around the warming porcelain. It had been a long, and strenuous day.

She was sitting at the small table pushed up against the wall in her office, closing her eyes at the peace and quiet. It was like beautiful music to her ears. Most of the staff had already called it a day, though a few housemaids and the hall boy were still whispering in the servants’ hall over a game of cards. Mrs. Hughes could hear their stifled giggling through her open office door. The sound of approaching footsteps mixed itself in to the picture.

“Oh, Mr. Barrow?”

A head of black hair and high cheekbones appeared in the doorframe. “I heard my name?”

“Yes”, the housekeeper said with a beckoning hand, “Would you like some tea?”

The butler smiled and stepped through the door. “Very much so, thank you.”

He sat down opposite her, accepting his cup and adding a dash of milk to the hot beverage. They both raised their respective mugs to their lips and enjoyed the bitter flavour of slightly overdrawn tea leaves. Mrs. Hughes used the opportunity to check on the man’s well-being.

“How are you doing these days, Mr. Barrow? Truthfully, I mean.” She had noticed that his behaviour had improved ever since their trip to York. He was less on edge, the bags underneath his eyes fading and he had started talking and smiling on his own behalf again. Judging from the outside, Mrs. Hughes would have even called him jolly. But she was careful to never judge a book by its cover.

Mr. Barrow stirred his tea with a teaspoon, swirling the light brown liquid around in the shape of eights. He had a contemplative pout on his face, a vertical line separating his eye brows. He was thinking hard about how to answer the question.

After a few moments, he had come up with an answer. “Better, I suppose. Not good, but better.” He clinked the spoon on the side of the cup. “It’s more of a dull ache now than a sharp pain. The missing, I mean.”

He seemed a bit shocked at himself for revealing so much. Mrs. Hughes gave him an understanding smile. She was overjoyed that he was letting her be part of his emotional world.

“You have no idea how relieved that makes me.”

The butler returned the fleeting smile. They both swallowed more of their tea. Mrs. Hughes could sense though that there was something brooding in the butler’s skull and so she waited patiently until he was ready to speak out about what was bothering him.

“Mrs. Hughes”, he began timidly, “Do you think love can be replaced by somebody else?” He was watching his hands in his lap.

“My, Mr. Barrow, I wasn‘t prepared for such profound conversation.” She took a few seconds to debate the question in her head. “Not willingly, I don’t think. Alas, the heart wants what it wants. But I do think we can learn to love other people. Nothing’s set in stone.”

Something dawned on her. She eyed him from the side. “Is this about the gentleman we met in York?”

Mr. Barrow was still avoiding eye contact, but started to nod slowly to confirm her suspicions.

“I got to know him last year, during my time off when the Royal visit was. He-“

Something prevented him from continuing.

Mrs. Hughes remembered the part in Mr. Ellis’ letter from last month, she had not grasped. It had been a reference to an incident in York, which, if she understood correctly after rereading the message five times, had almost ended with the incarceration of the butler. She did not know what the valet, and now Mr. Barrow were talking about.

“Mr. Barrow, you know you can talk to me. What happened?”

And he told her. He told her everything about the few days in past-June, how he had gone in to York with Mr. Ellis and had waited hours for him in the same pub, Ms. Baxter, him and Mrs. Hughes had visited a fortnight ago. How Mr. Webster had found him and where he had taken him the same night. How he had danced properly for the first time in his life and how he had been unable to comprehend the revelation that he was not the only one of his kind after all. How the police had then raided the club, ripping Mr. Webster and him apart, the fear and uncertainty of being shooed in to the back of a police truck, not knowing what would happen to him and the other men arrested. How, against all odds, Mr. Ellis had gotten him out, rescued him from a prison sentence and probably the end of a respectable life. The revealing walk back to the Abbey and the hopeful goodbye the next day. He told her everything.

“Just as he left, he gave me this.” The butler pulled out a glinting piece of metal from the inside of his jacket, the object transpiring to be a pendant with a crescent moon on one side. Mr. Barrow held it with utmost care. “It was supposed to remind me of him”, he almost whispered, “And it still does.” Carefully he tucked it away again.

Mrs. Hughes was stunned in to silence. She had not expected such a dramatic backstory to Mr. Barrow’s and Mr. Ellis’ relationship. She let the new information sink in, not wanting to rush an answer.

The butler inhaled deeply and went on. “I just can’t seem to let go of him. He’s there in my thoughts when I wake up and when I fall asleep, even though I don’t want him to be.” It was clear that talking about the other man made him angry. The resentment that had been building up inside of him since January was now seeping through his words. “I just don’t understand how he could have left me. Without a second thought, just like that.” He snapped his fingers. His voice was a bit shaky. “And then, when I saw that Webster had gotten out alive as well, I started to wonder whether the thing with Mr. Ellis was impossible from the start. Him being in London, working for the highest authority in the land and stuff. Having this impressive image to protect”, he scratched at his nose. “Meanwhile, Webster is just around the corner, enjoying life in pubs, being nice and all the things I’ve wished for since the dawn of time.” He placed a flat hand on the table. “I just wonder if it’d make things…. simpler.”

He remained quiet. Mrs. Hughes harrumphed to strengthen her own voice a bit.

It was very hard for her to adhere to Mr. Ellis’ request. Obviously, the letter had enlightened her quite a bit. Not, because she had imagined that the legitimacy for his actions would be narcissism or anything of that sort, but it reinforced the trust the man had earned from her since she got to meet him. He was a broken, but pure soul, and she was not going to be persuaded of anything otherwise. And of course, she had been racking her brain for how to make Mr. Barrow see, what she had discovered about Mr. Ellis’ past, present and future. Perhaps, this was her opportunity.

“I get your point. But with all due respect, don’t you think you’re being a bit selfish? I mean, the only reason he isn’t in contact with you anymore, is because someone threatened to destroy his life if he did approach you, and then you proceeded to shout abuse at him when you got the news.” She shifted in her wooden seat. “Don’t you think, he’s in as much pain as you are?”

The faint ticking of the clock in the butler’s pantry echoed through the hall. Mr. Barrow could not conjure up a coherent response. He probably had not considered that side of things. He eyed her with wide pupils.

“But how would that change things? I wouldn’t be able to see him again one way or the other.” Not being able to handle the sudden surge of doubt and nervousness, he stood up and walked around the room, running a hand over his face. “And what do I know, Mr. Ellis might be happy to have gotten rid of me. I certainly would. Perhaps I should just move on and substitute while there’s a willing candidate.”

Mrs. Hughes gaped up at him.

“Mr. Barrow, I’ve witnessed you being a bitter, evil witch, but those are the coldest words I’ve ever heard come out of your mouth.” She was glaring ferociously at him, not believing that he had already forgotten what she had said about Mr. Ellis’ perspective.

The butler abruptly halted his pacing in favour of staring at her. The emotional rollercoaster on his face displayed everything from insult to anger to hurt. The argument appeared to be tearing him apart with despair.

For a while, they both just stared at the wooden planks forming the floor, not knowing how to continue, neither with actions nor words. Time seemed to be standing still, the world having forgotten about them and they about the world. Eventually, Mrs. Hughes scrambled out of her seat, walking over to her desk. Slowly, she opened the drawer by the little knob and pulled out the opened envelope she had sworn to keep secret. But what were any more secrets going to do good in this situation?

She offered the paper to Mr. Barrow. “I wasn’t supposed to do this, but I don’t think there is another way to convince you of Mr. Ellis’ heartbroken condition.” When the man did not respond to her outstretched hand, she waved it a bit to pressure him in to taking it. He got the hint, moving a few steps forward and feebly snatching away the paper. Using his other hand, he pulled a corner of the first page out of the envelope, not catching on to what he was holding.

“It’s a letter I received a few days ago”, Mrs. Hughes explained solemnly. She stepped around the desk once more to reclaim her chair at the little, wobbly table. “Please, sit with me Mr. Barrow.”

The butler obliged in a haze, his expression now frighteningly neutral.

The housekeeper was too deep in to stop now. “Mr. Ellis contacted me out of desperation. Apparently his blackmailer is very keen on getting him fired, he monitors him day and night. That is why he hasn’t been in touch ever since January.” She sighed, trying to loose some of the weight pressing down on her lungs.

His jaw clenched, no verbal response.

“Mr. Barrow, the man is barely hanging by. Cutting you out his life seems to be the biggest mistake he’s ever made. But if you don’t believe me, I beg you, read for yourself.”

“And why did he send it to you and not me? If I mean so much?” His leg was bouncing underneath the tabletop, ready to carry him out the door.

“You will find out. In the letter, I mean.”

The man nodded and stood up, aggressively heading for the exit. Mrs. Hughes hoped, she had not made a mistake.

“One last thing Mr. Barrow”, she shouted after him before his heels disappeared. He retraced his footsteps and faced her once more, looking drained.

“I have lived life a while longer than you, so let me share some piece of advice I have learnt through personal experience.” She sent him an emphasising glance, really meaning the following words. “Hold on to love. It doesn’t come around often enough to be substituted for less.”

Mr. Barrow took in what she had said, looked down at the envelope once more and then, without looking back, left the office.

…..

Mrs. Hughes was not stupid. Naturally, she had memorised the number Mr. Ellis had enclosed in his letter, just in case. Now she felt like, it was that kind of case. She had locked herself in to the butler’s office, assured that Mr. Barrow was upstairs serving dinner and therefore not going to interrupt, and was dialling the telephone address a tad jittery. Mrs. Hughes had not thought about what exactly she was going to say, but she felt too guilty for retelling Mr. Ellis’ touching words without his permission. At the very least, she had to inform him about it and take the responsibility for her doing. She owed the poor man that much.

The telephone was beeping, waiting for the receiver to pick up. Next, a man of old age with a hoarse voice answered to her call.

“Good evening, you are speaking to His Majesty’s household, Mister Grant Harrold, The Royal Butler. How can I assist you?”

Mrs. Hughes had to swallow down a slight panic, not used to the authority of Buckingham Palace. She proceeded with as much confidence as she could gather.

“Good evening. My name is Elsie Hughes, I wish to speak to your second Royal valet, Mister Richard Ellis please?”

“Ah, yes, I will call for him. He will be with you shortly. Excuse me.”

Mrs. Hughes could hear the earpiece being laid down and then footsteps, distancing themselves from where the telephone was. There were a few minutes of silence, before someone lifted up the framework again.

“Hello, it’s Mr. Ellis, who’s calling?”

Hearing his voice was a huge relief. It was a reminder that nothing was lost yet.

“Mr. Ellis, I am very glad to hear you are unharmed. This is Mrs. Hughes from Downton Abbey?”

“Mrs. Hughes!” The valet suddenly spoke with more emotion, two notes higher in pitch, like a small breath of life re-entering his body. “I’m so delighted you are calling! Wait”, he seemed to remember that she was only supposed to call him in an emergency, “Is everything alright? Must I worry?”

The housekeeper rushed to deny his alarm. “No, everything is fine. Well not really, but not acutely distressing. Are we speaking in private?” She recollected who had first answered her call.

“Sadly not, I’m in the butler’s office.”

Mrs. Hughes was thinking frantically.

“I tell you what, why don’t you come up to Downton as soon as you can and we can discuss matters without interrogating ears. Would that be possible?”

Mr. Ellis’ core must have been a bit shook at the proposal. It took him a second to string together a coherent reply. “Um, it should be. My next time off is the first weekend in April, I could arrange a trip until then.” He paused. “Do you think that is a wise idea, Mrs. Hughes?” He sounded extremely doubtful, his voice having lost volume.

Mrs. Hughes put back her shoulders and straightened her stance. “I believe it absolutely necessary. April is perfect, we’ll be awaiting you.” She suddenly remembered why she had called in the first place.

“Mr. Ellis, I must confess, I have broken my promise. I showed him your letter.”

Dead silence on the other end.

“I’m very sorry to have betrayed your trust, but I pray you believe me, when I say it was the only way.”

Still nothing.

“Mr. Ellis?”

“Yes, excuse me”, he replied with an unstable voice. He cleared his throat. “I do believe you.” There was another sound that did not match the tone of the valet’s voice. “I am very sorry, but Mr. Harrold needs his phone back. I look forward to our meeting.”

The line was dead. The call had been ended before Mrs. Hughes could have wished him farewell.

She hoped, it was not a bad omen.


	13. April

The birds were chirping above her head, while Mrs. Hughes was wandering through her garden. She was admiring the work her husband had done, little saplings peeking out of the ploughed soil, soaking in the weak sun shining down on them from the cloudy sky. She was hoping to harvest some Yorkshire forced rhubarb to make a delicious compote, but the bed of rhubarb plants still looked a little sparse and so she decided to give it one more week. Otherwise, the compote would be bitter and sour and it would just have been a shame to waste the crops like that. Mrs. Hughes walked another round to investigate the other plantlets and then balanced back towards the cottage on the concrete slabs fitted in between the small fields.

She was nervous about today. It was Saturday, the 7th of April and as scheduled, the day Mr. Ellis was supposed to return to Downton. The housekeeper had not informed anybody of this, apart from Anna and Ms. Baxter, who had found out by snooping around in her calendar. Mrs. Hughes had tried to be cross with them, but in reality it took a load off her mind, having a confidant she could confide in. Anna had been very optimistic, saying she was sure the issue would resolve itself when face to face, but Ms. Baxter had had a few more qualms. She suggested that Mr. Barrow normally was not the biggest enthusiast about surprises and overpowering the control of his own personal affairs could backfire awfully. Mrs. Hughes did not deny that she had followed a similar train of thought after her telephone call with the Royal valet, but it was certainly too late now to aboard the mission. The only thing to be done at this point, was to wait and see.

The housekeeper quickly popped in to kiss her husband goodbye for the day, instructing him to make the rhubarb grow faster, and then made her way up to the Abbey. When she approached the big house with its yellow exterior and plethora of windows, which all needed polishing during the spring-cleaning currently in process, she saw the Crawley children playing by a tree, in to which Mr. Talbot had fixed a swing. Master George and Lady Sybbie were off school for Easter break, Easter Sunday being the next day, and Mr. Talbot’s construction was therefore an early gift in time for the religious holiday. The swing had been a highlight among the youngsters since the days had warmed up and the sunlight remained for longer. Now, they were dodging the swinging plank tied to a thick branch by strings, Miss Sybbie moving her legs back and forth to catapult herself as high as possible. Before Mrs. Hughes’ eyes flashed a reflexive worst case scenario that involved the momentum of the swing hitting one of the members of the infantry on the head. The housekeeper averted her gaze as fast as possible, not standing the worry.

Instead, she redirected her attention back at the windows. As every year, Mrs. Hughes questioned, how in God’s name they would be able to clean them all in time before the last frost came around, when she noticed a moving object out of the corner of her eye. A car was driving down the road leading up to the gravel patch in front of the main entrance. The vehicle was getting closer fast, whirling up some dust on the tracks. Soon, Mrs. Hughes recognised Mr. Branson in the driver’s seat, animatedly conversing with a person riding shotgun. She could not identify the passenger at first, but with every second passing, the outline of his facial features grew more and more defined. She was a bit perplexed at the sight: Mr. Ellis was in the car right next to Mr. Branson.

Mrs. Hughes turned around just before she reached the front door and patiently waited for the car to arrive. Mr. Branson drove around in a semicircle to position the car in a manner that allowed it to be parked by the footmen. He cut off the engine and jumped over the low door, no roof being above his head to hinder him. With a crunch, his feet hit the gravel and he walked around the vehicle, grinning wildly at Mrs. Hughes in hello. Mr. Ellis was slightly more prudent, opening the passenger door as intended and climbing down as gracefully as someone could exit a narrow, high car. He banged the door shut, approaching the housekeeper with a bit more tension in his shoulders, the colour of his face closer to ash than a normal skin-tone.

He took off his hat in a respectful greeting. “Lovely to see you again Mrs. Hughes”, he smiled, taking a step forward to give her a peck on the cheek. Only now did she realise, how happy she was to see him live and in living colour, unscathed.

“Likewise Mr. Ellis”, she smiled and returned the gesture on his left cheekbone. When she pulled away, his eyes crinkled with glee at the welcome.

“Do I get a warm hello as well?” Mr. Branson now stood beside them, removing his motoring gloves one at a time. Mrs. Hughes rolled her eyes and gave him a chaste kiss as well. These men, always chasing after attention. The grin on his face made her forget any annoyance though and she could not help but shoot the Irishman a fond smile.

“Now, will anybody explain to me what you two were doing in a car together?”

Mr. Branson gestured towards the main entrance and the three of them started walking in the direction of it, entering the building.

“I dropped off Lucy at the train station and spotted Mr. Ellis standing on the platform. He said he was on his way to Downton, so I offered him a ride.”

The men faced each other and Mr. Ellis extended his hand for a shake. “Thanks again for that, I hope I can return the favour someday.”

Mr. Branson took the hand with his right and made a disapproving motion with his left. “Nothing to worry about, it was my pleasure. Your knowledge of cars is quite extraordinary, I hope we can continue the conversation. Maybe over dinner tonight?”

Mr. Ellis looked a bit dumbfounded, not knowing how to respond to an invitation to a fancy dinner. He was normally the one, who had to wait in front of the closed grand doors leading to the dining room.

“I mean, if it’s not an inconvenience. The offer is very kind.” His gaze nervously flickered to Mrs. Hughes, looking for her approval. She gave him a tiny, reassuring nod.

“Wonderful, I’ll let the Earl know that we’ll have a guest tonight. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to finish some managing business for today. The farm up the hill is tackling the birth of loads of piglets and the poor farmers are a bit overstrained with the huge litters.” He walked back a few steps towards the passage connecting entrance hall and library. “I’ll see you later.”

“Until then”, Mr. Ellis retorted and he and Mrs. Hughes watched Mr. Branson’s back disappear in the shadows of the hallway.

“Come on, let’s head downstairs”, the housekeeper recommended and the two of them moved in the direction of the door to the servants’ quarters. “I hope you had a pleasant trip?”

“Yes, very much so”, the valet replied. “I love a nice train trip. Always feels like going on holiday.”

They descended the wooden stairs, while Mr. Molesley came up from below, taking up a set of tea on a serving tray. His face brightened when he saw, who was trailing behind Mrs. Hughes.

“Mr. Ellis, great to see you again. It’s been too long.”

“I agree, hello Mr. Molesley.”

The footman passed them, but turned around at the top of the stairs. “Maybe you, me and Andy can have a chat tonight? I’d like a talk about sports that isn’t only about football.”

Mr. Ellis had to laugh at that. “I’m sure we’ll find some time.”

Mr. Molesley nodded excitedly. The sense of responsibility of a housekeeper bubbled up inside of Mrs. Hughes.

“Mr. Molesley, all of this is very lovely, but I can assure you, the tea won’t be, if you wait around any longer.”

The footman understood and slipped back in to his role as servant, rapidly heading for upstairs. Mrs. Hughes and her follower pursued their way further downwards, the housekeeper walking towards her office and bidding the guest to sit down for a moment, she would join him shortly. She dropped by the kitchen, fetched some boiling water, tea leaves and biscuits and made her way back in to her pantry. She placed the clattering tea service on the wee table off to the side and poured them both a cuppa. Mr. Ellis accepted the mug gratefully, blowing away the swirling steam rising from it. Mrs. Hughes took a seat herself. They sat in comfortable silence for a few seconds.

The Royal valet then cleared his throat suggestively. “Is… Is Mr. Barrow in?”

The shine of hope in his blue eyes made Mrs. Hughes feel a sting of pity for the man.

“He’s just out to instruct the gardeners on the family’s vision of the gardens this year. He should be back any minute though.”

That did not seem to calm her opposite. His face went even paler and he restlessly turned his hat in his hands, trying to control his nerves. It was quite the pathetic sight. Mrs. Hughes would have loved to assure him that there was nothing to make a fuss about, but even after Mr. Barrow had read the notorious letter, he had been enraged, though she was unsure if the anger was directed at Mr. Ellis or himself. Anyhow, she was unable to predict how the surprise meeting was going to go. Nevertheless, she attempted to be the calm party in the situation.

“Just so you know: whatever happens next, Mr. Barrow keeps you close to his heart. He is only a shadow of himself during your absence. So, however he might react, it doesn’t mean he dislikes you.”

Mr. Ellis eyed her very doubtfully, not believing a word she was saying. They had no time left to speculate though, because in that moment somebody knocked on the door and entered the room.

“Sorry Mrs. Hughes, but do you know where-“

Mr. Barrow’s voice faded when he saw that the housekeeper was not alone in her office. His face went slack. Mr. Ellis jumped out of his seat, hitting his thigh on the armrest in the process, but not caring. He faced him, wanting to greet the butler, but failing as soon as his eyes met the other man’s. The air in the room became as dense as water, weighing down on everyone present.

“What is this?” The butler asked indignantly. He did not move from his spot in the doorframe, his hand frozen on the knob.

Mrs. Hughes got up as well. “This is a peace offering, Mr. Barrow. Since you’ve been unbearable for months, I decided to take matters in to my own hand and asked Mr. Ellis to visit, so you two can resolve your conflict like dignified adults. I want you to speak to one another and hear each other out and only then judge.” She sidestepped around her desk and approached the door, pushing the bewildered butler further in to the pantry. “I’ll give you until dinner starts.” Decisively, she closed the door with a click and locked it with one of the plenty keys on her key ring. No room for discussions left.

Chuffed, she scuttled in to the little niche adjacent to her office and moved aside a small, wooden chest on the top of a shelf to reveal a grating in the wall. It was the same ventilation grid that had helped her eavesdrop and subsequently debunk the hostile Vera Bates, when she had dared to show up at Downton years ago. Now, it came in handy for another reason. She stood on her tiptoes, waiting for conversation to penetrate through the metal.

At first there was silence, and Mrs. Hughes imagined it to be a fairly awkward one. Then somebody sighed heavily.

“Thomas, I-“

“Why didn’t you tell me.” The butler’s voice was shaking.

“How was I supposed to?!” Mr. Ellis answered exasperatedly. “The arsehole at Buckingham was literally spying on me, he somehow managed to get his hands on my morning post before I did. Did you really think I was going to be an idiot and hand him what he so desperately wanted? The evidence of my guilt, right there with my signature underneath?”

Mrs. Hughes could hear the valet’s arms fall back at his sides.

“Why did you write to Mrs. Hughes then if it was so risky?”

“Because I knew she’d understand, while being a neutral faction.” Mr. Ellis sounded tired and defeated when he appended, “And she’s a woman, of course.”

“Alright”, Mr. Barrow retorted curtly. “And why no call?”

“I don’t have my own telephone. The Royal butler would definitely have found it magnificent to find a substandard valet in his office, dramatically declaring his love for another man.”

Hush.

Mrs. Hughes could have heard a pin dropping next door, that was the level of quietude.

“So is that what you’re calling it now. After months of no contact, whatsoever.”

Somebody, presumably Mr. Ellis, sat down in one of the chairs. His following words were muffled, he must have put his hands on his face.

“Thomas, I am so sorry for that. From the bottom of my heart. I know, I don’t have the right to just barge in without prior notice.” His voice was a bit clearer now. “But I’m not going to apologise for keeping you, and as a matter of fact me, safe. The times we live in are just too dangerous to be reckless, as I‘m sure you’re aware of by now. So, if you must, please forgive me for miscommunication, but don’t hold rationality against me.”

Again a period of silence. This time it was broken by approaching footsteps and then a knee hitting the parquet flooring. Mr. Barrow was kneeling in front of the other man.

“Hey, look at me.”

Mr. Ellis obliged.

“How could I ever hold anything against you.”

Thereafter, Mrs. Hughes could hear the crinkling of clothes and sharp exhales, her imagination filling in the visual image of the audio. She felt a bit strange for listening in on such an intimate moment, almost as if she was making googly eyes and standing right next to them. She quickly recovered from her moment of shame when the dialogue continued though.

Mr. Ellis softly spoke, “I’ve missed you so terribly. It was as if someone had ripped out my heart from my alive body. Or like I was burning at the stake. Or even worse-“

“I do too, you know”, the butler replied calmly. His voice was husky, still affected by the previous kiss.

“You do what?” Mr. Ellis did not seem to understand what he was on about.

Mrs. Hughes could hear the smile in Thomas’ intonation. “I love you. With every fibre of my being. From the day you left for the first time, every day, in every lonely night, until now and beyond. I couldn’t stop if I wanted to.”

Mr. Ellis reclaimed the other man’s lips once more, this time for longer and with more passion. Actions were better at conveying feelings after all. After a while, Mrs. Hughes could hear heavy breathing, the lovers trying to restore their oxygen levels to a normal state after the almost electrically charged minute. It felt as if the world, or at least a mere excerpt of it, their own little personal bubble, was in balance again. Mrs. Hughes had to pinch herself to hold in a squeal.

“My love.” The Royal valet said the two words with such adoration and tenderness that Shakespeare’s sonnets appeared dull compared to them.

The butler took in the words, imprinting them on his heart for future times. “But wait”, Mr. Barrow carried some concern in his voice, “Is everything in the letter true? You intend on resigning?”

Mr. Ellis must have nodded in response, because the butler continued with his speech. “And what then? Where are you going to go? What are you going to do?”

Mr. Ellis sighed a bit, the chair underneath him creaking when he shifted. “What I’ll do, I’m not quite sure. I’m not going back into service though. That’s part of my past, I want to take control of how I spend my waking hours now. Life’s too short to waste it on tedious labour.” He gave a soft laugh at that. “I don’t know, I might become a teacher. I’m good with literature and Mr. Molesley told me there is a national shortage at the moment. I’ll ask him on some more info.”

The next part, he added a bit more tentatively. “As for the where… I was thinking of moving back in with my parents. They’ve got a spare room and maybe less distance would do our relationship good. Get to know each other again, something like that.” He paused for a moment. “And, of course I’d be closer to you. If you’ll have me, that is.”

Mrs. Hughes could hear fast lips on skin, the butler perhaps giving the other man a peck on the cheek or on his forehead.

“That sounds perfect”, he said, the quiver in his voice due to the grin plastered on his face.

The next sound came from much closer to the housekeeper. “What are you doing there?”

Mrs. Hughes almost jumped out of her own skin. She could have sworn her heart skipped a beat.

“Mrs. Patmore, have mercy”, she wheezed, rapidly moving the wooden box back to its original spot, obscuring the secret gateway in to the romantic drama happing on the other side of the wall.

“Christ, you must have lifted off from planet earth”, the cook wondered, sizing her up. “I’m starting on dinner now, so you can round up staff involved.”

She gave the housekeeper a last, weird look, before resuming to walk in to her territory, the kitchen. Mrs. Hughes’ palms were still clammy from the shock of being caught. She straightened the upper part of her working uniform to collect herself physically and mentally, and then, with determined steps, her rattling keys and a brisk double-knock, announced her entry in to her own pantry.

“You two, hurry up, dinner is imminent.”

…..

Reality seemed a bit twisted, seeing Mr. Ellis sit at the Downton dinner table with a napkin in his lap, crammed in between the Lord of Grantham, Lady Grantham, Lady Mary and Mr. Branson of course. He looked a bit like a kitten lost in the streets, struggling to find the warm safe zone that was its mother. Thankfully, his professional training as a valet had taught him table manners, such as how to use cutlery correctly, and so he was at least not embarrassing himself. The staff in the room were still trying to contain a giggle at the absurdity of the situation.

Mr. Branson had gone on and on about engines, new car models and his shop in the village. He was so happy to have a city man at the Abbey, who knew about the latest news in the motoring world, right out of a metropole. He had been as giddy as a child, when Mr. Ellis had told him that shortly before his departure, he had seen the new Lancia Dilambda in the King’s private garage.

“Amazing. Absolutely spectacular.” That was all the Irishman had mustered up in awe.

“So”, began Lady Grantham, after the conversation that only really interested Mr. Branson had finished. “What brings you to Downton? I suppose you just couldn’t stay away for too long.” She gave him a cheeky grin. She had been informed on his position for His Majesty and his presence during the Royal visit last year.

The Royal valet returned a flashing smile. “Actually, I’m here to see the lovely people downstairs again. We always have a good time.” He fleetingly glanced in the butler’s direction underneath the huge painting on the wall.

The Earl chimed in, “That’s right, I remember seeing you on New Year’s Eve in the servants’ hall.”

“Yes, that is correct, I was kindly invited. The celebration was wonderful.”

The crew sitting at the table agreed loudly, the staff around it quietly, but wholeheartedly.

The Earl patted at his mouth with his napkin. “It’s a pity we weren’t introduced earlier, you are quite the amiable chap.”

“Why, thank you Milord.” Mr. Ellis sheepishly grinned down at his plate.

“I bet Barrow thinks similarly”, Lady Mary quipped, swiftly taking a drink from her wine glass.

The whole room seemed to stop.

Everyone’s eyes were on the noble daughter. Andrew dropped a fork in shock. The Lady’s parents glared at her in horror. Mr. Ellis and Mr. Barrow were simply frozen with appalled expressions.

Looking around, Lady Mary caught the hint and amended, “I bet he appreciates the company of a highly trained servant working for the highest authority in the land. There is always more to learn.” The rescue was weak, but good enough to brush over the subject.

Mr. Ellis finally swallowed the bite he had taken before the risqué statement. “I’m actually resigning from service.”

Lady Grantham redirected her attention at him, making a ‘naaw’-noise to express her regret. “Why is that so?”

“Don’t know. Just not the job for me anymore.” He gestured towards Mr. Branson. “Plus, Mr. Branson’s tales from his own business are exciting enough to convince me, there is more to the world of work than laying out clothes and taking orders.” He quickly realised how that had sounded, adding in a hurry, “In no way do I mean to be disrespectful to anyone in this room.”

Mrs. Hughes was standing off to the side, having sneaked in under the pretence that she was supervising a cleaning investigation, which required her to be in the dining hall at dinner. Lady Grantham had not questioned her any further, too preoccupied with a brand new dress that had arrived today.

Nobody took offence at Mr. Ellis’ utterance, understanding fully what he was talking about. Most of them had felt a similar way at some point in their career.

“Well, you’re not the only one”, His Lordship contributed. “Many households nowadays are faced with the same fate of servants breaking free, so to speak. I marvel at the fact that Downton still manages every day.” He put a piece of roasted saddle of venison on to his tongue, chewing the delicacy thoughtfully.

“Well, I don’t. Mary and me, and all of the servants have been doing an amazing job on managing and we intend on doing so for a long time.” Mr. Branson raised his glass solemnly.

Lady Mary reciprocated the gesture. “To the best of times ahead.”

The others at the table joined in on the toast.


	14. May

The freshness of the air was so irresistible that Mrs. Hughes closed her eyes in appreciation, slowly and deeply inhaling the warm, sweet scents of spring. There were bees buzzing about, every now and then resting on the flowers of lilacs or heather, the pink and purple plants adorning the landscape surrounding Downton Abbey. There was a light breeze, chasing the small fleecy clouds in the light blue sky. It was the best weather anyone living in England could hope for at this time of the year.

That was the reason why the Downton staff had collectively decided to ask for a day off, since Lady Mary and Mr. Branson were currently the only ones present in their home. The children were at school, the older members of the Crawley family had travelled to Northumberland to visit Lady Edith and her tiny baby at Brancaster Castle. The only servants they had brought with them were Ms. Baxter and Mr. Bates, everyone else left to cater to the small number of people in the Abbey. Mrs. Hughes had therefore asked Lady Mary, if she would approve of the staff being temporarily dismissed for a nice picnic in the park. She had justified the request with the workers desperately needing some sun tan after the long months of a freezing winter. The Lady had been very busy with some contracts and thus had shooed the housekeeper away with her approval, so she could carry on with her work. By now, she was remarkably gifted when it came to the business of the estate and Mrs. Hughes was impressed every single time she proved her passion and perseverance for it. She had thanked Lady Mary quickly and walked off as to not distract her any longer.

The others had been delighted at the prospect of spending a day in the outdoors and so everyone had started to plan the little excursion. Mrs. Patmore and Daisy had prepared an entire array of snacks and sandwiches. The cook had even made some citrus lemonade, which would become a big hit during the course of the day. Andrew had brought some empty pie tins, which Mrs. Hughes had found rather odd, but when she enquired, what he was going to do with the rubbish, he only cryptically smiled at her, saying, “Just you wait, I’ll show everyone later.”

The huddle of servants was climbing up a hill towards the back of the premises, the view on top stretching over the whole of Downton and further, revealing the dark green moors and forests of Yorkshire. The spot underneath a weeping willow was mostly dry, which led to the entourage deciding to settle right there. They unfolded blankets to sit on and opened baskets with tea cups, plates and cutlery, arranging everything for a nice meal outside. All the servants sat down, lightly sweating underneath their thick coats after scrambling all the way up from the house. It was warmer than most of them had expected.

Everybody took a seat, kneeling on the soft fabric of the sheets, but Andrew kept on standing, extracting his aluminium pie shells from a bag.

Anna perked up when the footman turned to walk away a few yards. “Andy, what are you planning to do with those?”

He turned back and smiled excitedly at her. “A mate of mine went to America a few months ago to study there, and the university students invented a game he thought I’d like.”

He positioned himself in a bracing stance, feet shoulder wide apart, the left one a bit more in front than the right. He dropped the bundle of packaging on to the ground, only holding on to one of the specimen. He grabbed the side of it, twirling it in his hand a bit.

“Behold”, he announced, an actual suspense among the other servants now. They were all watching the motions of the man with intrigue.

He indicated a mock throw a few times, testing the weight of the object in hand, and then, finally, threw it. The pie tin dropped quite rapidly on to the ground, just in front of his feet. The staff burst out laughing at him.

“What”, the footman mumbled, not understanding the force of gravity, ”I don’t get it, I did exactly what he said.” He picked the entity back up and examined the back and front of the shining shell, scratching his head in wonder.

Mrs. Hughes had recovered from her chuckle. “If you’d tell us, what you’re trying to achieve, perhaps we could lend a helping hand.”

Andrew ignored her offer, repeating the throw he had executed before. The result was the same, eliciting another wave of giggling from the amused audience. It went on like that for another three tries, until suddenly Andrew twisted his arm a tad more to the right and astonishingly made the aluminium hover through the air. The glinting metal disc trundled above their heads, the servants’ eyes glued to the phenomenon with fascination painted on to their faces. Someone exclaimed a ‘wow’, when the disc descended after calmly flying over a distance of about twenty yards. Applause spread among the group, Andrew grinning wickedly at the success, bowing before the blankets.

“See, I knew it’d work.” Chuffed, he walked back to the others and sat down beside his wife, breaking off a little piece of bread as a prize for his triumph.

Instead, the hall boy and two housemaids jumped up, wanting to try the fun as well. The first attempts were equally embarrassing to Andrew’s, but after a while, they too got the hang of it, fighting over who got to perform the next throw. Mrs. Hughes had to smile at the childish behaviour, appreciating the energy of younger people lifting the mood along with the warmth of May. The sun painted little white circles on to her eyelashes, dancing around when she inclined her head to rest it on her propped up shoulder.

Yes, she could get used to the idea of summer.

…..

The housekeeper found herself in a circle with Anna, Daisy, Mr. Barrow and Mrs. Patmore, the four of them exchanging some dialogue surrounding the recent developments in politics. Daisy was in her absolute element, a fire glinting in her eyes.

“The Representation of the People Act is going to change everything”, she said in awe. “After years of fighting and sacrifice, women’s suffrage is finally going to stop being a dream and start being reality. They’re even saying that the bill will have the effect of making female voters a majority in the country. Can you believe that?” The grin on her face almost split it in two.

“That indeed sounds very exciting. At last, some common sense influencing the House of Commons.” Mrs. Hughes had phrased it as a joke, but she was actually quite convinced that it really would do the country good to have female voices calm down the heady male counterparts.

“When’s the law going to pass?” Anna questioned, biting in to a juicy apricot.

“Right now they’re aiming for late June, early July.” Daisy was very elated. Mrs. Patmore patted her knee, seemingly to stop her from levitating with bliss.

“Well, I suppose we can all go to the next general election together then.” Mrs. Hughes sipped at her tea. “It’ll be like a celebration march to the polling stations.”

“I hope I won’t be excluded from the trip?” Mr. Barrow popped a toffee in to his mouth.

Mrs. Patmore replied earnestly, “Of course not. If this long battle was for equality, in the end it would be stupid to exclude anybody. We’ll go together, as equals this time.”

There was a solemn consent among the servants, the future appearing to be very promising.

Just then a hat came in to view from behind the ledge of the hill, a person in a long, unbuttoned, navy peacoat emerging from the grass. The figure spotted them immediately, waving cheerfully at the crowd. The staff recognised the by now regular guest straight away.

Mr. Ellis had actually suited the action to the word and resigned from the Royal household at the end of April. The transition had gone swiftly. No troubles had arisen with his notice and recommendation letter, even though Mrs. Hughes had been worried the man’s blackmailer would use it as a final opportunity of destruction. But strangely, the colleague had kept quiet, maybe being glad that Mr. Ellis was out of sight. However, the relief had been a big one for everybody involved.

Subsequently, Mr. Ellis had moved to York to live with his parents, although he had already announced that the arrangement was only temporary. Mr. Barrow had informed Mrs. Hughes that apparently his parents were very pleased to see their son more than once every two months, and they had assured the ex-valet he was welcome for as long as he needed a place to stay. Even though Mr. Ellis had found the offer quite endearing, he was too proud to live in his parents’ home at his age. Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Barrow had therefore helped him to scan the newspapers for suitable flats in York and around the city. The housekeeper had secretly also looked for free addresses in the village of Downton, but sadly not found anything yet. She kept her fingers crossed for a miracle happening fairly soon.

When Mr. Ellis was close enough to the blankets, so one could actually see his facial features, Mr. Barrow jumped up from his spot and jogged towards him, a happy smile crinkling his eyes. The butler slapped his shoulder in welcome and Mr. Ellis briefly placed his hand on the small of Mr. Barrow’s back, pushing him back in to the direction of the group. They exchanged a few words before joining the rest again, Mr. Ellis saying ‘hello’ collectively, waving at everyone. He was greeted in return and then Daisy pulled him down in between her and Mr. Barrow, who was just sitting back down as well. The herd was complete now.

Mr. Ellis had spent quite a lot of time at Downton, mostly to spend time with the butler, but also to question Mr. Molesley on his part-time teaching job. The footman loved his new profession, but after the magnificent Royal visit, he had decided that he hoarded a passion for service as well. So, he was part of the Downton team again – for some days of the week at least. This position was very convenient for Mr. Ellis, because it made it easy for the two men to converse about being a teacher, what it took, how to qualify oneself, etc. Mr. Ellis had been very attentive, even taking notes when Mr. Molesley reported on what had gone down in school earlier that day. The ex-valet was more determined now than ever before, convinced that the job would be right for him, and so his preparations for a career in teaching were underway. Mrs. Hughes thought it was quite exciting, seeing another member of staff throw off the yoke of service and pursuing their dreams. It inspired her, but she felt too old to attempt the same. Besides, she loved her work, days like these the proof of that.

She took a hearty bite of her turkey sandwich.

“So, anything new I ought to be informed on?” Mr. Ellis declined the bag of sandwiches being passed around.

“Daisy here was telling us about the Equal Rights Act”, Mrs. Patmore declared knowingly.

“The Representation of the People Act”, Daisy corrected, rolling her eyes at the elder woman.

“Right.” The cook imitated the action. Mrs. Hughes found it rather comical.

“Oh yes”, Mr. Ellis nodded, “It’s about time. Don’t understand why it took the men in charge so long to grasp, what morons they were being.”

Daisy had been very fond of the man before, but that statement almost made her swoon at Mr. Ellis. The other women appreciated the enthusiasm as well, nodding in endorsement.

“Andy also came up with a new activity”, Mr. Barrow chimed in, balancing one of the pie tins on the tip of his index finger.

“What is that then”, Mr. Ellis smiled at the man seated next to him. The butler interpreted the question as a prompt and lifted himself off the ground, stepping off the blanket.

“I’ll show you.”

Mr. Barrow was quite nifty when it came to any sort of sports. He had previously taken a shot at the disc throwing too, elegantly casting the aluminium plate down the hill, much further than Andrew had managed. His confidence therefore was not arrogance, simply trust in his own capabilities. The butler positioned himself and with a swift motion sent the pie shell sailing through the air. Mr. Ellis watched in amazement.

“Wait, I have an idea!” Mr. Ellis jumped on to his feet as well, removing his hat and dropping his coat at his feet, rolling up the white sleeves of his shirt. He picked up the disc and handed it back to Mr. Barrow with the words, “Throw it one more time.” The blonde then distanced himself from the butler, wiggling his fingers when he stopped running away, the butler’s cue to fling the pie shell once more. As the flying object slowly glided back towards the ground, Mr. Ellis moved toward it, eyes fixed on it, and then leapt upwards to catch the disc mid-air. He grinned at Mr. Barrow from afar.

“Now it’s your turn, Mr. Barrow.”

The laughing butler bent his knees in anticipation, hands already outstretched to catch the playing piece. Mr. Ellis tried to mimic what Mr. Barrow had done, but it only worked partially, his throw a lot more wobbly and shorter in distance. The black haired man was required to dive after the aluminium, almost tumbling over with the effort of it. Mr. Ellis laughed at his own failure, clapping his hands together once to bestow his respect for the other man’s rescue mission.

They repeated the procedure a few times, casting the metal back and forth, slightly out of breath because of the exercise and their constant, contagious laughter. Soon, the game attracted the attention of the other servants, them coming up to the couple and wanting to join in on the fun.

“Here you can have it”, Mr. Barrow lightly panted, giving the pie tin to the hall boy. “I need a rest.”

The two older men approached the blanket Mrs. Hughes sat on, leaving the younger attendees to play on the grass. Mrs. Patmore offered them both glasses of lemonade, which they accepted with great thanks, gulping down the sticky liquid in mere seconds. They stood in front of the housekeeper, one hand buried in their pockets, the other holding their glass. Both were facing the panorama behind the Abbey, taking in the gorgeous view. From Mrs. Hughes’ perspective it almost looked like the frame of a painting. She kindly smiled at the serenity of it. After months of downs, these two really deserved some ups, and she was going to do everything in her might to ensure that. In that moment, that meant searching for freshly baked treats in the food basket.

“Would anybody like some waffles?” 

…..

The day passed by far too quickly, the sun already setting behind the tall trees in the distance. The last drops of sunlight dipped the sky in orange and pink paint, the clouds reflecting the rays in to every direction. With the end of the day, the temperatures dropped noticeably, the staff deciding to pack up and head back as their toes grew cold. The caravan was in excellent spirits, scrambling down the mound with full bellies, aiming for the big house in the middle of the land. Everyone was a bit tired from the fresh air, but a certain number of colleagues was still up for a game of cards before it was bedtime. As soon as they reached the Abbey, everybody helped to clean up the dishes from the picnic and store away the blankets used. The younger housemaids went up to their rooms, wanting to wash themselves and Anna headed upstairs to see if the Lady needed anything. She returned almost immediately, Mr. Branson trailing behind her.

“Her Ladyship has gone out with Mr. Talbot and the children. I found the poor Mr. Branson all alone in the library and offered him to join us.” She questioningly smiled around the room.

“Very nice, come and sit down Mr. Branson.” Mrs. Hughes pushed him closer to the table. “Any tea or something else you’d like?”

“No, I’m already satisfied with the company”, Mr. Branson answered humbly, taking a seat and spotting Mr. Ellis, the other non-staff member in the round.

“Ah, Mr. Ellis, I had no idea you’d be here.”

They shook hands over the table.

“Came in spontaneously”, the other man explained, “And I didn’t want to miss a game of Blackjack.”

Mr. Barrow shuffled the cards at the head of the table and dealt them to the people sitting close enough. While playing, they picked up a conversation about the management of Downton Abbey and the family living in it. Unfortunately, Mr. Branson informed the lot that the Dowager Countess’ health had rapidly declined in the past few days and Dr Clarkson had warned the Earl, it would not be very long until the end of her. She had lived a very long and good life, almost having survived her illness for a year after the diagnosis, but in the end death did not discriminate between the sinners and the saints. Though the woman had been a plague more often than less, she was dearly beloved by family and staff and her death would certainly change the estate. The fight was coming to an end and the doctor advised everyone on wishing their farewells to make the parting as peaceful as possible.

The mood was a tad mellow after that, but they got out of the hole when Mrs. Patmore asked the Irishman about Lady Sybbie.

“She’s doing so well”, he puffed out his chest with pride. “She’s such a bright young thing and making friends everywhere she goes. I couldn’t love her more.”

Mrs. Hughes smiled sweetly. “That is wonderful news. We’re all very fond of her as well.”

She turned to her right towards Mr. Barrow. “How is Master George doing in school?”

The butler could not help but look happy at the question. “Oh you know, being quite the rascal. Probably shouldn’t have taught him about pranks in the first place.” He had to dodge the housekeeper’s hand that was trying to smack the back of his head. Really, he should not negatively influence a young heir at a prestigious boarding school.

“Don’t worry, I’ll talk him out of it eventually”, the butler declared, the devilish grin on his lips remaining though.

“What about you Mr. Ellis?” Mr. Branson enquired, “Do you have any family?”

The man was somewhat startled at the direct query. He shook his head with a sad smile. “Only got my parents. Service didn’t allow anything. But don’t need more than that.”

Mr. Branson looked a bit surprised, his expression then melting in to an understanding one. “No worries, you’ll find someone and it’ll happen soon enough”, he spoke with conviction.

The ex-valet did not respond, his eyes speaking the truth adequately when they fleetingly settled on Mr. Barrow’s. Some of the servants also exchanged uneasy glances of knowing, having figured out the real reason for Mr. Ellis’ regular visits quite a while ago. Mr. Branson did not catch on to the shift in atmosphere though, too busy with his cards. Thus, they carried on with the game without disruption.

…..

Mrs. Hughes, Anna and Mr. Branson were still gathered at the table, but most of the others had up and left, having other things to do. Mr. Barrow and Mr. Ellis had gone out for a stroll, Mr. Ellis saying he was going to gather his things in the car and the butler explaining he was ‘escorting the guest, as he should in his position of the house’. Mr. Branson had promised to drive the ex-valet to the train station for the mid-night train back in to York, and was now waiting for him to announce he was ready to depart. There was no sign of the man though.

Mrs. Hughes got impatient. “He’ll miss his train if you don’t leave soon.”

Mr. Branson checked his wrist watch, thinking similarly.

The housekeeper got out of her chair, smoothening down her frock. “Let’s go and get them.”

Anna accompanied the two of them out the door, wanting to go home to her son. The trio split up at the servants’ entrance, Anna heading left for her cottage and Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Branson turning right to reach the main door. When they arrived at the parked car, Mr. Ellis’ hat was on the passenger seat, but any signs of life were absent. Mrs. Hughes narrowed her eyes, finding the situation extremely strange. She walked around to the other side of the car and concentrated on the park in front of the Abbey, her eagle eyes searching the area for movement.

She missed a comment from Mr. Branson, due to her spying something in the distance. Slowly adapting to the darkness, her eyes focused on the bench, under the big tree on the lawn, next to the path. When she quietly approached it a little further, she could make out two silhouettes, illuminated by the bright shine of the halfmoon hanging in the dark night sky. Her brain was sluggish, but connected the dots eventually.

Mr. Barrow and Mr. Ellis were sharing the bench, the butler’s right arm lying on the backrest and hence around the ex-valet’s shoulder. Mr. Ellis was close enough to rest his head in the crook of the other man’s neck and Mr. Barrow reciprocated the intimacy by resting his cheek on top of Mr. Ellis’ head. Utter affection and serenity represented in a single posture, even though it was recklessness all the same.

Mrs. Hughes could hear footsteps coming up from behind her. They stopped on her level and she could feel Mr. Branson’s presence, watching the scene displayed before them.

“Oh. I see.”

Mrs. Hughes did not know what to say to that. They stood in the fresh air of the evening, silent for a minute.

“Do you think we should interfere?”

“Maybe not”, the housekeeper whispered back, “They rarely get a moment alone. Mr. Ellis can stay in the guestroom of my cottage.”

“Alright.”

Another five seconds passed, until first Mr. Branson and then Mrs. Hughes turned away and tiptoed back to the house, leaving behind a forbidden, but beautiful love in the concealment of night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wonder if someone got the little Hamilton wink, hehe.  
I'm a bit sad to announce that this was the penultimate chapter, at least until further notice. My creative resources are slightly exhausted, but I'll say some more about it in the notes of the next chapter.


	15. June

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My friends, the final chapter. I can barely put into words how incredibly humbled i am by the reception this little story has gotten. I want to thank every single one of you for commenting, leaving kudos, or reading in silence. It means the absolute world.  
That said, my brain might be fried but my fingers aren't. Thus, if you wanna chat or have any ideas for a oneshot or another chapter, but are too lazy to write it yourself (been there) do not hesitate to send suggestions in, either in the comments or on my tumblr @thedanceronthestreets.  
Again, thanks so much guys, i really appreciate you tagging along.

Everybody was uncomfortably hot underneath their black dresses and suits. The young summer sun was burning their necks, as they stood huddled on the graveyard, mourning the freshly dug up earth in front of the big marble stone. The death had been calm and swift, many family members there in person. Mr. Barrow had gotten the news first, forwarding them to the rest of the staff. Nobody could quite believe it – the Dowager had always been present, and for some reason everyone had thought, it would stay that way forever. But here was life’s revenge once again, reminding the people at Downton that time indeed only moved forward, even for supernatural personalities like the Dowager.

Thankfully though, there had been touching moments of goodbye before her parting, which now made the final one easier. There were some tears, but mostly because of happy memories and stories of remembrance, no ill thoughts or ‘what ifs’. Afterall, the Dowager would be the last person to be remembered as someone with regrets.

There was a light feast in the Dower House subsequently, but the servants had not been invited, since the other guests, mostly as old as the Dowager had been, would surely disapprove of having to sit at the same table as a servant. The staff did not mind terribly though, not having been the old Lady’s best friends either. They collectively started walking along the road up to the Abbey after the service, quoting their favourite Dowager remarks, which in retrospective were quite hilarious, even if they had been horrible at the time.

Mr. Molesley then raised a topic, which no-one had considered until then.

“Are these… sad circumstances in any way going to affect the annual cricket match next week?”

Ms. Baxter rammed her elbow in between his ribs, whispering, “This really isn’t the time to think about bloody cricket.”

“No, he’s right”, Mr. Barrow pacified the upset lady’s maid, “Not today, but when it’s sensible, I’ll ask His Lordship if he wants to postpone the match. Though it’d surprise me, since he himself is always so keen.”

“Well”, Mrs. Hughes began, “Good to think about it, but that’s for another day. Today is about mourning and respecting a soul in heaven.” She reconsidered her words carefully. “Maybe not in heaven, but I’m sure somewhere with the Lord.”

…..

A week past the funeral, Mr. Barrow did as he promised, the Earl having recovered a bit from saying goodbye to his last parent. He was not offended by the enquiry, since he knew how much the game of sports meant to the staff and village, and he had been looking forward to it as well. Mrs. Hughes overheard a conversation between Lord Grantham and the butler, when she passed an open window on the outside of the library, hiding from the voices leaking from the inside.

“Tell everybody, we, the Team Downton, are most definitely ready for a rematch. Last year’s defeat was rather embarrassing and I will not allow a year to pass by without a chance of retaliation.”

“As you say, Milord”, the butler replied professionally, “The village and staff will be delighted.”

“So will I. I could do with some cheering up.” With sad eyes His Lordship smiled up at the highest servant in the house from where he was sitting at his desk. Shortly after, the pleased expression turned in to a pensive one. “Do we know, who is going to replace Carson in the match?”

“Isn’t he playing, Milord?”

The Earl leant back in his chair with raised eyebrows. “I’m assuming no, because of his advanced palsy. The poor man has difficulties holding a pen these days.” He got up to pour himself a drink at the little table by the windows. Mrs. Hughes moved closer to the wall to avoid being caught eavesdropping. “I hope I’m not being presumptuous.”

“If you so wish, I could clarify the matter later, Sir.”

“That would be very kind Barrow. Try to be gentle though.” He gave the butler a pointed glance over his shoulder, knowing fully what nastiness he was capable of. The butler nodded with a bit of a hurt look at the reminder of his personal history and extracted himself from the room.

Uh oh, Charles would not like this at all.

…..

“What, do you mean I am too old to participate?!”

Her husband was on the edge of fury, abandoning his hand-sized rake he was ploughing up the garden grounds with. Mrs. Hughes felt very awful to be the messenger of the news.

“That’s not what I mean”, she tried to explain, “I’m just saying that it would be better for your health to stay out of it this time. You’d only be frustrated in the end.” She stepped closer to caress his cheek at hip level, due to him kneeling on the grass in front of her.

“B- But”, he spluttered, clearly at a loss for a counterargument. The man lowered his head in defeat. “I’ve never missed cricket”, he sulked, the tone of his voice quite heart breaking. Mrs. Hughes crouched to join him on the earth, looking intently in to his eyes to express her deepest sympathy.

“I know darling, but there’s no point in denying anything. The weight of the bat is too heavy, it’d be painful to hold. Please try to be reasonable.” She sent him a wobbly smile.

Mr. Carson grabbed her hand and gently swung it between them. “But what would I do then? I cannot sit by like an old, withered man while the whole of Downton Abbey indulges in jolly activities.”

“Don’t worry, your experience and expertise is still useful”, Mrs. Hughes reassured. “You could train the house to prepare them for the big day. I’m also quite sure Mr. Bates would let you be score keeper, he’ll have his hands full with keeping wee Johnny busy.”

Her husband slowly nodded in acceptance.

She gave his hand a squeeze. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, yes”, he sighed, “I am just not very fond of this bodily ageing process.”

Mrs. Hughes laughed softly. “Blimey, say that again for both of us.”

…..

She caught the butler on his way out of the kitchen. “Mr. Barrow, a moment?”

He walked past her, a food tray with dinner in his hands. “This really isn’t the right time Mrs. Hughes.”

“Yes, I’m sorry, but it’ll only take a second, then I’ll be out of your hair.”

He slowed down, a sign of allowing her to talk. “Go on then.”

Mrs. Hughes intertwined her fingers, “I wanted to inform you that I’ve spoken to Mr. Carson and we’ve come to the conclusion that he won’t play in this year’s cricket match.”

The butler’s face was more interested then, “Well that’s weirdly convenient, because His Lordship actually asked me to replace Mr. Carson with someone… more fit for the job.”

Mrs. Hughes listened attentively, feigning ignorance. “I suppose it goes hand in hand then?”

“Quite.” The butler began striding again. “It does mean we do have to find someone new to take the position though.”

As the man disappeared out of sight with the footmen following him, Mrs. Hughes already had an adequate candidate in mind.

…..

“What, you think I can just announce myself to be part of an ancient house tradition?” Mr. Ellis eyed her sceptically while filing away forms on the table in the servants’ hall. He currently spent a large amount of time at Downton, partly because Mr. Branson had asked him to help out in the car shop from time to time, but also so he could ask Mr. Molesley straight away when any questions concerning the application as teacher arose. He was preparing for the test as an English tutor, his knowledge on classic literature already very admirable. The man had explained that between clothing changes, life at Buckingham Palace had been fairly uneventful for a second dresser, so he had used his time efficiently by reading everything from Dickens to Wilde. Good for him, since the knowledge would really come in handy now.

When he had gotten rid of the papers, Mr. Ellis focused back on Mrs. Hughes, “I don’t want to invite myself, particularly when I’d be taking over the spot of such a beloved figure at Downton. I’d never do Mr. Carson justice.”

Mrs. Hughes rolled her eyes, fed up with this game of honour. “Mr. Ellis, I wouldn’t be asking you, if I didn’t think you could take over his position. Besides, as much as I love him, but Charles was never the polished diamond when it came to cricket, you needn’t worry about restoring a monumental legacy. And you’re not inviting yourself, I am.” She tapped the table with her index finger, like a judge in court, sealing the deal. “You’ve got no objection left?”

Mr. Ellis laughed brightly in spite of his defencelessness. “I think I’m beaten.”

Mrs. Hughes was thereby satisfied, smiling confidently and then leaving the room to return to her tasks. The day of cricket could not come soon enough.

…..

“And? Does it fit?”

The three of them were up in the servants’ quarters, Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Barrow in the hallway, Mr. Ellis in the butler’s bedroom. After Mrs. Hughes had illustrated her idea of Mr. Ellis joining the house cricket team to Mr. Barrow, he had forwarded the proposal to Lord Grantham, whose reaction was predictably relief. Mr. Ellis was young and in good shape and therefore a ‘promising team member in this year’s battle of the classes’. Yes, the Earl was taking it way too far with the enthusiasm in Mrs. Hughes’ opinion, but the poor man had lost his mother recently, so who was she to judge, when he wanted to take his mind off things.

Today was the anticipated day of the match and Mr. Ellis was trying on sports gear to blend in with the squad. Mrs. Hughes had gathered all the sizes she had thought appropriate for the lad, and was now waiting with the butler for him to present himself. The lock of the door clicked and he came forth in to view.

“I think so.” The ex-valet stepped out in the traditional, but practical outfit, the white of the loose linen shirt and cream-colour of the thick pullover contrasting nicely with his tanned skin. He looked very dashing, Mrs. Hughes allowed herself to think.

The man plucked at the layers, turning around to give them an all-around view. “What do you think?”

Mr. Barrow harrumphed a bit. “I think I’ll keep to myself what I’m thinking.”

Mrs. Hughes made a scandalised noise, hitting the butler on the arm. Mr. Ellis just smugly grinned in return.

“Behave yourself Mr. Barrow.” She shifted her attention back to the blonde. “You look very handsome young man, but most importantly you’re ready for the game, so let’s get going.”

They headed for the stairs, leading them down on to ground level, where out in the fields the action was happening.

Most of today's attendees were already gathered at the cricket field, warming up for the next few hours. Mr. Molesley was already caught in a tunnel, focusing intently on the practise ball Andrew was throwing at him, and failing to hit it. Instead, it rolled through his legs and the hall boy picked it up behind him, passing it over to Andrew again for another attempt. If the sight were not as ridiculous, Mrs. Hughes would have felt sorry for the fanatic.

She strode across the field with the two younger men on either of her sides towards the big white tents set up as a sunshield. The event was as always not only a sporty one, but a catwalk too. The Upstairs residents were dressed in featherlight pastel dresses and suits, big hats adorning the complicated hairstyles of the women and intricately designed vests and canes for the men. Mrs. Hughes had similarly put on one of her poshest outfits for the occasion, not having the chance to impress every day.

The soft rolls of the hills in the distance, green fields and rich trees, the treetops trapping the first rays of summer sun; Least to say, it was a gorgeous day to be out in the open. Mrs. Hughes joined the other spectators on the little benches, meanwhile Mr. Barrow and Mr. Ellis moved towards the men of Downton, who were now huddled for a motivational speech by the leader. The village team spread out first, occupying their respective positions, giddy to reclaim their title as winner. The housekeeper could see the whole pitch from her spot, an advantage in her search for Mr. Carson, who was nowhere to be found underneath the marquee. Eventually, she observed him in front of the referee’s cabin, conversing with Mr. Bates, presumably about how they were going to keep score as a duo. After some minutes, he made his way over to the tent, smiling when he spotted his wife and sitting down beside her on the rickety bench. Someone shouted and the game was underway.

Mrs. Hughes had never really bothered to find out the specific rules about cricket, all she knew was that you had to throw, hit, catch and run – a bit simple for her taste. Yet, she enjoyed the amusing reactions by the players, sometimes fist pumps of joy, other times a bat was thrown to the ground. It was always friendly and fair though, never any hard feelings against the opposite team.

It turned out that Mr. Ellis was good at cricket. He did miss a few throws, but gained back the points especially when he was catching the balls after having been hit by the bat. He was fast and agile and hence reached the flying sphere almost every time before it hit the ground. The Lord of Grantham seemed content with the new player.

Nobody was able to trump the butler though. Mr. Barrow really just was the game maker, scoring away anytime it was his turn. Mrs. Hughes still wondered, where he had learned to play so well, though she was pretty sure it was not less than fifty percent talent as well. There he went again - another point for Team Downton. Mr. Bates whistled for an interval, causing the players to abandon the pitch and refresh themselves with the various beverages offered in the tents. Mr. Branson took the opportunity to jog up next to Mr. Barrow and slap him on the shoulder, expressing a mixture of ‘thank you’ and ‘congratulations’ on the good game. The butler accepted the compliment with a humble nod and then caught up with Mr. Ellis, who was already ahead a bit. As he reached the other man, he subtly bumped their hands together, an almost non-existent entanglement of the fingers. Mrs. Hughes overlooked it in their favour, even though she disapproved of such careless behaviour, knowing about their history. But they were mature grownups and she hoped they had learned their lesson. Mrs. Hughes would not be able to always keep an eye out for them.

Because Mrs. Hughes was the only person sitting at her table, everyone else greeting the heroes of the day with cocktails, the two secret lovers spotted her sitting all by herself and decided to keep her company. When they approached, Mrs. Hughes could see their sweaty hairlines thanks to the running and moving actively. The pullovers may look posh, but for a day in June they were rather uncomfortable.

Mr. Barrow must have had the same thought, due to him pulling the thick wool over his head with a sigh of relief when the mildly warm breeze around them hit his upper body. His hair was even more dishevelled now, the gel in it having given up on its job during the game. Black strands were falling in to his eyes and when he noticed, he ran a hand through his hair, trying to re-establish it unsuccessfully.

“Bloody long hair, I think’m desperate for a cut.”

Mr. Ellis eyed him from the side. Almost whispering in Mr. Barrow’s ear, he stated, “I think it’s fine.”

The butler blushed all the way from the tip of his ears down to his neck. Mr. Ellis smiled innocently at the open pitch. They had definitely forgotten Mrs. Hughes was right behind them.

“Would the gamers like anything to nibble on?”

In unison, they turned to her in surprise, arriving back in reality. Mr. Barrow’s face was still the colour of a red brick wall.

“What’s on the menu?”, the ex-valet said collectedly.

“If you’re not careful a police report”, she snapped, shooting them an admonishing glare. They both looked at their shoes, almost like schoolboys in the headmaster’s office, awaiting a punishment for being naughty.

“Alright, sit down, I’ll fetch you some scones.”

…..

The cricket dragged on for ages and Mrs. Hughes was really getting bored. The repetitive scheme of throwing and hitting and catching and clapping did not serve as adequate entertainment as a member of the audience. Although, a memorable moment had been when Mr. Molesley had actually managed to score. He had hit the fast ball with the bat, sending it flying over the heads of his comrades and hitting the grass out of reach for the opposite team. He had stood glued to the spot, mouth agape, before His Lordship had reminded him that he needed to start running if they wanted the point awarded. Then, he had sprinted as quickly as a man his age was capable of, and thank God for this miracle, he really scored the run. Pure ecstasy illuminated his face, the disbelief written on it in capital letters. Mr. Molesley had run towards the tent, waving at the audience in victory, it cheering him on as if he had just won the World Championship. The footman had stopped in front of Ms. Baxter, who to everybody’s bafflement had bestowed a kiss upon his cheek as a prize. Mr. Molesley had staggered back on to the field after that, his expression indicating that he was convinced to be in a fever dream. The lady’s maid had been equally flustered. The scene had been very endearing.

Nevertheless, Mrs. Hughes was glad when the game was declared over by her husband in the evening hours, sun descending and moon rising. Once again, the village had beaten the noble house, but only by a few points. Lady Mary instructed to leave the tents up overnight, they would be used the next day for an outdoor lunch. The servants were quite happy with that, not having to take down the set up in the dark. It made the evening a lot more relaxing.

Mrs. Patmore had prepared a stew earlier that now only needed reheating and therefore provided a comforting dinner for upstairs and downstairs folk. The staff was animatedly chatting around the table, still gushing over Mr. Molesley’s triumph in the match. The man was beaming like the sun at the honour.

Mr. Ellis was seated on Mrs. Hughes’ left hand side, engaging in conversation with her and the butler. The housekeeper briefly mentioned her respect for their cricket skills.

“And Mr. Barrow, I must say, your abilities astound me every year. You’ve really got quite the talent with hand-eye-coordination.”

“Yeah she’s right, you’re not too bad”, approved the ex-valet, helping himself to another serving with a huge ladle.

“Why, thank you”, the butler replied bashfully, not able to handle all the positive language directed at him. Never in his life did he have to deal with genuine compliments until the present times. “You’re quite the sportsman yourself.”

“Eh, not really. I guess you’re forced to learn cricket rules and techniques when you spend life around the core of British aristocracy.”

A pleasant silence of slurping and blowing on soup followed. Soon, Mr. Ellis cleared his throat though, it sounding like he was going to make an announcement.

“I actually have some, I suppose you could call it exciting, news.”

Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Barrow, as well as Anna, who was uninvitedly listening in on the opposite side, payed the man attention.

“I- ehm…” He fiddled with the hem of his napkin. “Mr. Molesley approached me earlier. Said, one of the teachers at the Downton village school was pregnant and as of July to be on maternity leave. The position is therefore on the market.” He eyed the butler carefully. “Mr. Molesley asked, if I wanted the job. It’s not for long and not full-time, but it’ll help my career to kick off.”

Anna and Mrs. Hughes made jubilant noises, the housekeeper giving him a half-hug in their sitting position. Mr. Barrow’s proud smile was radiant enough to have been seen from a mile away.

“That’s wonderful news, Mr. Ellis!”

“Well yes”, he continued, “But it also means I need to find a place near Downton. Work traffic in York is bad enough, I’ll spend my life on the road if I keep living there.”

“Don’t worry about that part Mr. Ellis, we’ll find a solution”, Mrs. Hughes appeased him, “If it comes down to the worst, my guestroom is always open to you.”

“You’re too kind Mrs. Hughes”, Mr. Ellis sighed, placing an arm around her shoulders and squeezing briefly. The bond between the two of them had become as warm and affectionate as a normal friendship could be, and Mrs. Hughes would be very fond to have him even closer by in the future. Mind you, she was not the only one delighted at the prospect of it. Mr. Barrow was blinking rapidly when the same realisation hit him as well.

…..

“Right, I better get back before the train leaves without me.” Mr. Ellis reached for his coat on the hanger in the hall and the butler took it off him to help him into it. Ms. Baxter walked towards the group of servants with the soon-to-be-teacher’s hat, which he had forgotten in the servants’ hall. He gladly took it, mumbling a ‘thanks’ alongside a ‘silly me’. He turned the dark blue headgear in both his hands, facing all the people gathered.

“Thanks again for inviting me and your most generous hospitality. The day was lovely.” He smiled in to Mrs. Hughes’, Anna’s, Ms. Baxter’s and Daisy’s faces, all standing around him, the butler and the servants’ exit like an eager flock of geese. At the back of the hallway Andrew and Mr. Molesley appeared from behind the corner, also meaning to wave their goodbyes.

“I’ll see you soon enough”, Mr. Molesley smiled from afar. Mr. Ellis had informed him that he would gladly be taking on the position at the school.

The ex-valet raised a waving hand in gratitude. Then, he focused all of his mind on the man standing right in front of him. “We’ll meet up soon, too?” The hope in his voice was as sweet as honey.

“Of course”, Mr. Barrow grinned back, regarding him affectionately.

They both fidgeted animatedly. The energy between the two men was as strong as an electric current, as if the longing for the one opposite was the force of two magnets, pulling towards each other tirelessly and unwaveringly. For a spectator such as Mrs. Hughes, it was almost unbearable to watch.

She worked up all the courage she had in exasperation and boldly spoke out in to the world, what everybody was covertly feeling.

“Oh, come on, give him a kiss already.”

The entire hall was quiet in the face of the suggestion. Mr. Barrow and Mr. Ellis stared at her in bewilderment, but she nudged the butler’s back in encouragement, truly meaning what she had said. The men turned their heads towards each other again, nervously exchanging looks, unsure how to proceed. But then something settled in Mr. Ellis’ gaze, a certainty taking over his next actions. He took a step forward, one last insecure look directed at the entourage in the hall over the butler’s shoulder, before confidently closing the gap and giving the frightened Mr. Barrow a kiss on the lips. It was chaste, gentle and over in the blink of an eye, but it had been there, undeniably. Someone very quietly gasped in the background.

When Mr. Ellis pulled away and opened his eyes again after the intimate contact, he gave the servants one last glance, placed the hat in his hands on his head, nodding briskly with a polite smile and then stepped out through the door in to the lukewarm summer night.

The noise of the closing door was painfully loud in the roaring silence. Nobody dared to move, not really sure how to handle the illicit event that they had just been a witness of. Mrs. Hughes briefly doubted, if her advice had been such a good idea after all. She decided against the thought though and turned around to face the crowd.

“See? Nobody died. The world’s still turning.”

The housekeeper made her way through the group with a raised chin and thereby broke the shock-induced paralysis in the hallway. The rest of the staff turned around too, going back to the servants’ quarters and their own business.

As the masses dissolved, Mrs. Hughes could hear whispered words in front of the servants’ exit and turned around once more to check on what was happening.

“Mr. Barrow, are you well?”, Ms. Baxter enquired worriedly. The butler still had not moved even a finger, his pale face staring at the wooden plane of the door. He blinked a few times, apparently coming back to his senses.

“I’m not sure Ms. Baxter.” He managed to look in to her face, recognising the gentle smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “I’ve never felt this way before.”

The lady’s maid took his hand and lead him away out of the hall in to his office. Quickly, she emerged again and scurried in to the kitchen, asking Mrs. Patmore for some tea. Mrs. Hughes just smiled and walked up to the entrance to the butler’s pantry, seeing a wide-eyed Thomas in his chair. She walked past and settled in to her own office.

A feeling of pride was expanding in her chest. For Mr. Ellis, for herself, but foremost, for Mr. Barrow.

Who would have thought a year ago, a trip around the sun would turn his life upside down and inside out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit for the idea of Mr. Ellis working in Mr. Branson's shop to tratieluver14!


End file.
